Hetalia 100 Day Challenge
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: 100 mostly unrelated short stories and drabbles, ranging from angst to romance to humor and involving characters such as the Nordics, FACE family, the Asians, and more. See either the Table of Contents or the beginning of each chapter for the ratings. 'Answer key' now included.
1. Table of Contents

_**I mention this in the first chapter, but I'll say it here, too:**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**_

_**Some of the chapters (okay, a lot of the chapters) have 'guess' for characters. That means that you're not supposed to know who it is for dramatic purposes. AKA, it's SUPPOSED to be confusing. When I'm finished writing all 100 days, I'll post a sort of 'answer key' at the end so you'll know who I was thinking of while writing those chapters.**_

_**Thank you for reading!**_

OoOoOo

**Day Seventeen: Blood**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort without the comfort

Summary: He loved the sight of the blood, reminding him that he was, indeed, alive. He loved the pain, reminding him that he hadn't lost himself completely. (Part 5 of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Forty-Three: Dying**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/friendship

Summary: "Isn't it beautiful here?" he murmurs. He takes a step closer to the edge, to get a better look. The man beside him moves closer to him. "Death is beautiful, too."

**Day Thirty: Under the Rain**

Main character(s): South Korea; China

Rated: K+

Romance

Summary: And that made him wonder … if China thought he was 16 and acted as though he was 16 … would China only look at him as a child, and not as a person? Would he ignore him if he just said –

**Day Fifty-Five: Waiting**

Main character(s): Canada

Rated: K+

Family/hurt/comfort without the comfort

Summary: He was waiting for his former caretakers – all of them – to remember him and find him again. He was waiting for his brothers and for his fathers. Waiting for his family.

**Day Sixty-Three: Do Not Disturb**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: M

Angst

Summary: Without another word, a handful of cash is thrown at him. Iceland quickly cleans himself up, dresses, and heads for the door, where he tosses the Do Not Disturb sign back into the room.

**Day Seventy-Eight: Drink**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Angst/family

Summary: Fuck Norway. He didn't need the older nation, anyway. All the blonde did was cause him trouble and drag him into unions he never agreed to be part of. He punched the wall weakly with his free hand. Fucking Kalmar Union.

**Day Forty-Four: Two Roads**

Main character(s): South Korea

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: It hurt. It hurt so bad and he didn't know how to make it stop. For good. He bore the weight of both the people of North and South Korea. Him? He was just Korea.

**Day Forty-Eight: Childhood**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: M

Angst/drama

Summary: He sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. Sometimes, he wished he wasn't a nation. Then maybe he wouldn't hate everyone so much.

**Day Twenty-Six: Tears**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: K+

Angst

Summary: You probably don't know this, but there's a reason why I wears gloves. Why my eyes are purple. Why my hair is a silver-white. Why I refuse to show emotion, regardless of how angry I can get inside.

**Day Thirty-Three: Expectations**

Main character(s): Hong Kong; China

Rated: T

Drama/suspense

Summary: "Hong Kong? What are you doing, aru?" Hong Kong sneered, the first expression he'd made in China's presence for a long while. "What, you thought we could go back to the way things were?"

**Day Fifteen: Silence**

Main character(s): the Asians

Rated: T

Suspense/drama

Summary: "No, stop it, da ze!" "We're family, remember?" Bang. Crash. Screams.

**Day Fifty-Three: Keeping a Secret**

Main character(s): Norway; Denmark

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: The first time he'd binged, he'd been devastated. He'd been amazed at how light he felt afterwards – but he'd still felt full. And if he just exercised a bit more … (Part one of the anorexic!Norway series)

**Day Eight: Innocence**

Main character(s): Italy

Rated: T

Drama/crime

Summary: He wanted to remind them just whose grandfather had once been powerful. He wanted to show them that he was a nation to be feared. But he would wait patiently until the time came. Grandpa Rome hadn't been built in a day, you know.

**Day Thirty-One: Flowers**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst/tragedy

Summary: Another petal to the pile. How many petals would it take until he finally ran out of blood?

**Day Ten: Breathe Again**

Main character(s): Iceland; Finland

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: He gasps at the pain. With the pain comes clarity and peace, two things that he desperately needs. He needs more, though, and so cuts again. And again. And again. (Part 1 of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Twelve: Insanity**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Drama/friendship

Summary: Wh-why are you fading away? No, all of the others, too, they're fading away! No, no, come back! Come back!

**Day Five: Seeking Solace**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: M

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: Norway is there, sitting on his bed, face blank. He is looking away as Iceland enters. When he hears the door shut and lock, Norway tenses, just the slightest of bits. He reluctantly turns to Iceland and sits patiently.

**Day Ninety: Triangle**

Main character(s): Hong Kong; South Korea; Iceland

Rated: T

Romance/humor

Summary: Looking back, all three of them agreed that it had started with pencil erasers.

**Day Ninety-Two: All That I Have**

Main character(s): Latvia; Russia; Lithuania; Estonia

Rated: T

Suspense/drama

Summary: "I am sorry, Латвия. But you know why I have to do it, да?" Latvia nodded sleepily into Russia's chest. "Because you have to teach me to be a good boy."

**Day Ninety-Nine: Solitude**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: K

Angst

Summary: Some people may call him paranoid, but he's just fine the way he is, so what does it matter?

**Day Forty-Six: Family**

Main character(s): Iceland; Hong Kong

Rated: K+

Angst/romance

Summary: Iceland and Hong Kong feel upset. Luckily, they have each other – and some crappy poems – to cheer themselves up.

**Day Eighty-Two: Can You Hear Me?**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Angst/poetry

Summary: Three nations feel out of sorts and write poems to convey their emotions.

**Day Seventy-Six: Broken Pieces**

Main character(s): Russia; China; South Korea

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: "No …" he whispered. Anyone but his youngest brother. Anyone else. Please, no, not him, please, please, no.

**Day Eighty-Five: Spiral**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Drama/hurt/comfort

Summary: Iceland has bet everything, and lost everything, from his puffin to his house. Norway had tried to help him. It didn't work.

**Day Sixty-One: Fairy Tale**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: "I …" Come on, just say it! Two little words! "I'm … I-I'm g-gay …"

**Day Fifty-Four: Tower**

Main character(s): America

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/family

Summary: He sank to his knees, clawing desperately at his chest … The towers – the towers were falling!

**Day Fourteen: Smile**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Horror/suspense

Summary: I just wanted them to smile, hyung. They never smiled, you see. But they just wouldn't listen …

**Day Twenty-Eight: Sorrow**

Main character(s): China

Rated: T

Horror/tragedy

Summary: Why have you done this? Why … Why are you this … monster, aru?

**Day Four: Dark**

Main character(s): South Korea

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: His phone rings. Hong Kong. He throws the phone over the edge of the roof. He can't see it fall. It's too dark. Too late, hyung.

**Day Sixty-Four: Multitasking**

Main character(s): Italy; Romano

Rated: M

Drama/crime

Summary: He swung around and punched Romano in the face, sending the man into the wall. Romano held his arms up, fear in his eyes. (companion!piece to 'Innocence')

**Day Eighty-Six: Seeing Red**

Main character(s): China

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: China muses about being communist.

**Day Thirty-Seven: Eyes**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: So we all hide. Three behind smiles. One behind a cold mask. And still no one asks. No one knows. No one sees.

**Day Thirty-Six: Precious Treasure**

Main character(s): South Korea; China

Rated: T

Angst/family

Summary: He wasn't North. He wasn't South. He was just Korea. Yes … He pressed the blade to his wrist … Just Korea. (sequel to 'Two Roads')

**Day Forty-Two: Standing Still**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: T

Drama/angst

Summary: In hindsight, you should have known it was too good to be true, too easy and simple. You can't believe you thought one person defined them all.

**Day Seventy-Two: Mischief Managed**

Main character(s): Spain; France; Prussia

Rated: T

Humor

Summary: See Spain. See Spain laugh. See Spain smile. See Spain run … right into a brick wall.

**Day Twenty-Three: Cat**

Main character(s): Japan

Rated: K+

Humor

Summary: Anyway, as I was trying to tell you before, the actual manga artist of 'Fruits Basket' is Kiku Honda. Otherwise known as Japan.

**Day Ninety-One: Drowning**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst/tragedy

Summary: He's drowning. Drowning in sorrow. Drowning in beer. Drowning in everything. Drowning in nothing.

**Day Twenty-One: Vacation**

Main character(s): America; England

Rated: T

Angst/tragedy

Summary: "It's okay, Iggy. I'm okay. I'm just going on a permanent vacation, so I need you to take care of my people."

**Day Eighty: Words**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst/tragedy

Summary: These are the words I'll never say. These are my last words, to all of you.

**Day Thirty-Four: Stars**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Family/poetry

Summary: So if there was a star for a girl, and/a star for a boy/wouldn't there be more light for the/world to enjoy?

**Day Thirty-Two: Night**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/romance

Summary: We're sick. We're not supposed to do this. We're brothers. But not at night. Not when the blinds are closed, the lights are out, the door is shut. We moan, love, _be_.

**Day Seventy-Three: I Can't**

Main character(s): Iceland; Finland

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: He needs it. He needs it so badly he can't describe it. It's getting harder and harder to fight the urge. He slams open the bathroom door, closes it, brings a razor blade to his wrist. (Part 2 of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Three: Light**

Main character(s): Iceland; South Korea

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/romance

Summary: He wants to run into the light and never look back. He wants to disappear. He wants to die.

**Day Forty-Nine: Stripes**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Family/poetry

Summary: Put them together/and we should see/the past to remember/what we did to be free.

**Day Seventy-One: Obsession**

Main character(s): Korea; Japan

Rated: High T/borderline M

Suspense/horror

Summary: "You've been a bad boy, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream. "Listen to your elders, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream. "Do as you're told, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream.

**Day Thirty-Five: Hold My Hand**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Angst/family

Summary: "Ísland!" his brother snaps. It doesn't faze him. He imagines himself falling, hitting the ground. It'll be perfect. It'll be a stroke of beauty in a horrible world.

**Day One Hundred: Relaxation**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Angst/poetry

Summary: I can't remember/how to stand alone./I can't remember/what it's like to not be afraid.

**Day Sixteen: Questioning**

Main character(s): Sweden; Finland

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: He might not have tried to kill himself, but he's still a coward.

**Day Thirty-Nine: Dreams**

Main character(s): Denmark; Norway

Rated: K+

Hurt/comfort/family

Summary: Denmark has a nightmare. Luckily, Norway is there to comfort him.

**Day Sixty-Eight: Hero**

Main character(s): Canada

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/family

Summary: Everyone is fighting. It's because of him. He just knows it.

**Day Sixty-Five: Horror**

Main character(s): Canada

Rated: T

Horror

Summary: Never again would he be forgotten. Never again would his voice go unheard. Never again … never again …

**Day Ninety-Three: Give Up**

Main character(s): Denmark; Norway

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: For once in his life, Norway needed him, so Denmark was going to do everything he could.

**Day Eleven: Memories**

Main character(s): Canada; America

Rated: K+

Family/drama

Summary: Stop it, stop it, stop it! He loves me! Leave me alone! I don't have a brother! Shut up! Leave me alone!

**Day One: Frown**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Poetry/family

Summary: Why don't you smile anymore? I miss your smile, Iggy.

**Day Six: Break Away**

Main character(s): Nordics

Rated: K+

Angst/family

Summary: They were all together. They were all a part of the Kalmar Union. And then Sweden broke away.

**Day Two: Love**

Main character(s): Denmark; Norway

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/romance

Summary: Norway is upset. And drunk. The problem? He's a slutty drunk. And the person he's coming onto just happens to be who he's upset with.

**Day Sixty-Six: Traps**

Main character(s): Nordics

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/family

Summary: He doesn't want to tell them, but he doesn't want to lie, either. So he stays silent. He glares at the ground, imagines that he is glaring at Finland instead. It's all Finland's fault that he's … that he's trapped. (Part 3 of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Forty: Rated**

Main character(s): teen!America; England

Rated: K+

Family

Summary: Arthur takes Alfred to his first rated R movie. Maybe this isn't such a good idea …

**Day Eighty-Four: Out Cold**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: You don't cry out. It only makes him angrier. Besides, it's your fault anyway. If you hadn't left, if you hadn't yelled at him, if you'd only listened to him, then he wouldn't be like this.

**Day Fifty: Breaking the Rules**

Main character(s): pedo!Spain

Rated: High T

Angst

Summary: Spain knew it was wrong. So very, very wrong. And disgusting and sick and, damn it all, there was something very, very wrong with him. The scary thing was, he was slowly learning not to care.

**Day Twenty-Four: No Time**

Main character(s): Hong Kong; Iceland

Rated: K+

Romance

Summary: Iceland introduces Hong Kong to snow.

**Day Forty-Five: Illusion**

Main character(s): Nordics

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: All of them wear masks. It's just seeing through them that's hard.

**Day Thirteen: Misfortune**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: You see things differently. That's all. You don't see the literal. You see what's beyond that. You see deeper than anyone else does.

**Day Seventy: 67%**

Main character(s): America

Rated: K+

Humor

Summary: America experiences the dark ages … aka, the days of dial-up computers.

**Day Thirty-Eight: Abandoned**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Angst/poetry

Summary: What did I do to make you hate me, make me hate you?

**Day Forty-Seven: Creation**

Main character(s): Norway; Iceland

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/drama

Summary: "Norway, no. They're not real." Iceland paused before saying in resignation. "You're sick, brother."

**Day Twenty-Seven: Foreign**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Romance

Summary: Two times a pair of brothers kissed, and one time they went further.

**Day Twenty-Nine: Happiness**

Main character(s): Sweden

Rated: K

Romance

Summary: He would have never thought that he'd get so lucky as to marry someone like Tino.

**Day Eighty-Nine: Through the Fire**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Tragedy

Summary: There's a fire, he's on fire, and it hurts and he's scared – He's dying, he's dying!

**Day Eighty-Three: Heal**

Main character(s): Iceland; Norway

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/family

Summary: It isn't his fault. It's theirs. All their fault. They aren't there. Why aren't they there? He needs them – bad. But he's alone. Forgotten. And those are the words that spur on his cutting. (Part 4 of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Seventy-Nine: Starvation**

Main character(s): America

Rated: T

Angst/ family

Summary: He wants to show the other nations just how easy it is to miss, just how dangerous it is. He wonders how long it will take them to notice. And so he begins starving himself.

**Day Ninety-Eight: Puzzle**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: K+

Family/angst

Summary: Iceland tries to keep up a tradition he and Norway used to do.

**Day Ninety-Seven: Safety First**

Main character(s): America, Canada

Rated: T

Humor

Summary: America demon-proofs his house. Thanks, England. Now Canada has to deal with it.

**Day Eighteen: Rainbow**

Main character(s): Romano, Spain

Rated: T

Romance/angst

Summary: Spain legalizes gay marriage. Romano reacts. "You're angry. You're happy."

**Day Sixty-Nine: Annoyance**

Main character(s): Norway, Denmark

Rated: T

Romance

Summary: Denmark is the most annoying being on the planet, Norway decides.

**Day Eighty-Seven: Food**

Main character(s): Norway, Denmark

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: He knew it was wrong, he knew that he had to eat – but the calories would make him fat. He'd become big and ugly again, and then Denmark would never want him, and Iceland would be disgusted by him. (Part 2 of the anorexic!Norway series)

**Day Seventy-Seven: Test**

Main character(s): America, England

Rated: T

Romance

Summary: It was a test of trust between lovers.

**Day Twenty: Fortitude**

Main character(s): Norway, Denmark

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort

Summary: Norway continues to struggle with his eating disorder. Luckily, Denmark is right there beside him all the way. (Part 3 of the anorexic!Norway series)

**Day Fifty-Six: Danger Ahead**

Main character(s): Norway, Denmark

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort

Summary: Norway estimated a week, maybe a week and a half, that he would be unsupervised, because Denmark trusted him. Norway hated to break that trust, but he needed to be perfect. (Part 4 of the anorexic!Norway series)

**Day Sixty-Two: Magic**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K

Poetry

Summary: A nation remembers magic as it once was and how it now is.

**Day Ninety-Six: In the Storm**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: When your feet are pained and numb, and you can no longer feel your hands or your cheeks, you collapse onto the snow. You lie on your side at first, but you feel too sheltered, too alone. So you turn onto your back and allow the dying storm to caress you.

**Day Nineteen: Gray**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Poetry

Summary: Every color scale, every personality scale, every sexual and romantic and happiness and sadness and anything-you-can-possibly-thing-of scales – there is not black and white. It's all gray. And even gray has a scale.

**Day Eighty-One: Pen and Paper**

Main character(s): Norway

Rated: T

Hurt/comfort/romance

Summary: Norway, with Denmark's help, works to become healthy and happy. Easier said than done. But Norway will do it. For Denmark. And maybe for himself, too. (Part 5 of the anorexic!Norway series)

**Day Sixty: Rejection**

Main character(s): guess the speaker

Rated: T

Poetry/tragedy

Summary: Several nations are about to take the leap of their lives. "Put aside our previous quarrels and anger –/For we all want to be control in our fate –/And that is what has brought you, and I, here, on this/Glorious day."

**Day Fifty-Nine: No Way Out**

Main character(s): Latvia

Rated: T

Angst/horror

Summary: "There was no way out, they said." So Latvia decides to tear Russia's house apart from the inside.

**Day Seventy-Four: Are You Challenging Me?**

Main character(s): America, Japan

Rated: K+

Humor/suspense

Summary: America challenges Japan … America's doomed.

**Day Seven: Heaven**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Poetry/angst

Summary: The cold never leaves. "It starves and sickens and kills."

**Day Forty-One: Teamwork**

Main character(s): America, various nations

Rated: T

Humor

Summary: America decides to get the nations together for some team building. But since when are his ideas ever good?

**Day Seventy-Five: Mirror**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Poetry/angst

Summary: Mirror, mirror, on this wall/never will I be the fairest of them all.

**Day Twenty-Two: Mother Nature**

Main character(s): Liechtenstein, Switzerland

Rated: T

Humor/family

Summary: It's that time of month … What's a trigger-happy man to do?

**Day Fifty-Seven: Sacrifice**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: T

Poetry/angst

Summary: As long as he is happy, I will go along./But I can only pretend for so long. My people will rise up, and I will support them./Until that happens, I will sacrifice everything I believe.

**Day Fifty-Eight: Kick in the Head**

Main character(s): Norway, Iceland, Denmark

Rated: M

Romance

Summary: "It started with Denmark's porn magazines and tumbled on from there … Maybe what he needed was a good kick in the head." Or maybe he just needed to be quieter. "You think we can't hear you?"

**Day Nine: Drive**

Main character(s): Denmark

Rated: T

Drama/angst

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal drive, a time for them to take down their masks and just enjoy the peaceful ride. But that was before they hit the black ice, before they spun into the guardrail, before they went flying – tumbling – down the hill.

**Day Twenty-Five: Trouble Lurking**

Main character(s): America, England

Rated: T

Humor

Summary: "America, this has disaster written all over it." "I know! Isn't it great?"

**Day Eighty-Eight: Pain**

Main character(s): Iceland, Norway

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: The cycle will never end. He'll always feel like this; he'll always turn to the blade. And he hates it. (Last part of the 'Blood' series)

**Day Fifty-One: Sport**

Main character(s): guess/none in particular

Rated: K

Poetry

Summary: It's more than a sport; it's a way of life.

**Day Ninety-Four: Last Hope**

Main character(s): America, England

Rated: T

Angst/hurt/comfort

Summary: Soon, there will be no more thoughts, no more pain, no more memories. It was his only way out. (Alternate ending to 'Vacation')

**Day Sixty-Seven: Playing the Melody**

Main character(s): guess

Rated: K+

Poetry

Summary: The melody is the most important part of a song./It's the most remembered./It tells a story./In a way, it controls the song.

**Day Ninety-Five: Advertisement**

Main character(s): America, England

Rated: T

Humor

Summary: "Don't touch me! That – that's assault, right there!" "How the bloody hell is that assault?" "You touched me!" "And?"

**Day Fifty-Two: Deep in Thought**

Main character(s): Iceland

Rated: T

Angst

Summary: He continued to wonder throughout the years since his independence why he was still considered a Nordic nation when it was all too obvious – to him, at least – that he did not belong with them.

OoOoOo~ ~OoOoOo Companion!fics and what order to read them in

**Breathe Again**

**I Can't**

**Traps**

**Heal**

**Blood**

**Pain**

)0)0)

Dying

Hold My Hand

Dark

Light

)0)0)

**Vacation**

**Last Hope**

)0)0)

Two Roads

Precious Treasure

)0)0)

**Fairy Tale**

**Standing Still**

)0)0)

Smile

Sorrow

)0)0)

**Innocence**

**Multitasking**

)0)0)

Stars

Stripes

)0)0)

**Keeping a Secret**

**Food**

**Fortitude**

**Danger Ahead**

**Pen and Paper**


	2. Day Seventeen: Blood

'_**Ello there! I've seen 100-Day Challenges everywhere and found one (it? Is there only one? I iz a n00b). I'll try to do all 100, however, no promises. I'm going in no particular order. At this point in time, they are all a bunch of non-related oneshots/drabbles (never quite understood what a drabble!fic is – can someone explain? What's the difference between a drabble!fic and a regular oneshot?).**_

_**The only time I'm doing this:**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, NorIce would be canon.**_

OoOoOo

**SEVENTEEN: Blood**

_Characters: Iceland; (brief) Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Norway_

_Pairing(s): (slight) SuFin; DenNor if you squint_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort (but without the comfort)_

OoOoOo

It takes all of his strength not to pull out his hair, to scream to the world, "I'm still here!" Instead, he keeps his usual façade on, pretending to not be interested in anything around him. In reality, he pays attention to every little detail, especially those concerning the other Nordics.

He clenched his gloved fists. They don't even notice him that much anymore. The only time they talk to him is to get free drinks or food. Or they try to get him to call Norway 'Onii-chan'. Right. Like that's going to happen.

He watches as Finland sits _just a bit too close_ to Sweden. He watches as Denmark annoys Norway – as usual – and Norway strangles him with his own tie. He blinks back tears. Where does he fit in to that picture? That's right. Not at all.

He remembers a time where all four of them paid attention to him, where he was the newest land and they all wanted to show him off. He was the center of attention. He hated it. But now, perhaps the attention wasn't all that bad. He misses it, whether he admits it or not.

But he's old news. And he doesn't go with the whole 'Nordic' picture. He shouldn't be surprised. The four of them are bunched together. His island is closer to England and Greenland than it is to any of them. But that doesn't mean they're not his family. Or, at least, he thought they were his family. He isn't so sure anymore.

He thinks back to the last time they cared. His fingers trace the scars on his wrists absentmindedly. He used to cut them, with the blade of an old razor. It was sharp and precise. He loved the sight of the blood, reminding him that he was, indeed, alive. He loved the pain, reminding him that he hadn't lost himself completely.

He hated it when the other Nordics – more specifically, Finland – found out. They talked to him, expressing their 'concern.' He wanted to scream at them – and scream at them, he did. "_Now_ you care? Where were you before? I don't need you; I don't need _any_ of you!"

They'd been surprised. Hurt. Worried. He didn't care.

But they kept an eye on him for months after that. They forced him to stop – and deep down, he'd wanted to stop, anyway – but he kept the gloves on to hide the scars. Part of him liked the attention; they cared. There was always someone around.

But that stopped as soon as it was clear that he was 'clean.' Slowly, they distanced themselves again. And he was left alone with Mr. Puffin, who didn't care what happened to him.

He pulls one of his gloves off, just enough to see the scars. He imagines there being red, shiny red oozing out of them. His heart skips a beat. He licks his lips. He glances over to the other Nordics.

He'll get their attention.

They'll notice him if he starts up again.

No promises if he'll stop this time, though.

He likes it too much to let go.

OoOoOo

_**Hmm … Now I'm inspired to write something about what happened to Iceland. *sigh* I have so many things I'm supposed to be writing *cough*glee*cough* but I just never get around to them. We'll see.**_

_**Please review! Constructive criticism is welcome!**_


	3. Day Forty-Three: Dying

**FORTY-THREE: Dying**

_Characters: Norway; Iceland_

_Pairing(s): NorIce if you squint really hard, stand on your left leg, put your hands up like a ballerina, and wear a tutu_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/friendship_

OoOoOo

He stands at the edge of one of the many cliffs on his island, gazing at the water below. It reaches desperately towards the rocks, but the rocks refuse to bow, and the water retreats back into itself, only to attempt it again. The sun reflects off of the water, blinding, pretty. He wonders where he would fit into that little scene.

He hears footsteps approach him, cautious. He ignores whoever it is. It can't be someone he knows; when was the last time anyone ever visited _him_? He continues staring at the water, at the rocks – would the waves pull him down and hold him in their cool embrace? Or would they reject him, push him against the rocks, over and over, until he is no more?

He can see the person with him, as the other has moved to his side. He recognizes the blue-violet eyes, the blonde hair, the expressionless face, which is turned towards him – for what? He's unsure. He does not acknowledge the man, focuses his attention, once more, on the scene below. Would the sun caress him so he shone as he drowns? Or would the sun hide behind clouds and make his body look sinister and cold?

"Ísland –"

"Have you ever thought about dying?" he asks, nonchalant. He doesn't care of the other's opinion, just needs a few more minutes to think. The more he thinks, the more easily he can envision his demise.

The man beside him stifles a gasp, takes a wary step closer to him. He does not care. He needs a few more minutes – just a few more. He can already see himself falling, hitting the water, taking his last breath. His heartbeat races. No surprise, there. His people – himself included – love extreme sports. Like cliff jumping. Only, he wouldn't be anywhere near as careful as his people.

"No. I can't say that I have."

Ah, so the man speaks! That puts a dampener on things. Not to mention, there is the possibility of an attempt to stop him, to change his mind. But he's strong. He's determined. And he's been thinking about this for a long time. He's fantasized about his death, and found that it makes him want it so much more.

"Isn't it beautiful here?" he murmurs. He takes a step closer to the edge, to get a better look. The man beside him moves closer to him. "Death is beautiful, too. It'll be peaceful this way, at least. The water will caress me as if I'm its child, straight from the womb. The rocks will hit me, cut me, as a reminder of the pain I'm leaving behind. The sun will blind me, protect me from seeing the unpleasant." He takes another step closer. "Yes. Death is a very beautiful thing."

The man keeps close to him. "Life is a beautiful thing, too. There are people to enjoy it with. There are flowers to garnish the world. The sun emphasizes the smallest critter, the largest mountain, the shape of your face … Death brings nothing but sadness to those living. Death brings you nothing but silence and loneliness."

He doesn't react. Takes another step closer. Kicks a pebble over the side, watches it falling, falling, falling … He feels the man's eyes on him, waiting for any sudden movement.

"Don't do this, brother," the other says. He ignores the man. "At least tell me why. Why would you leave a world where anything is possible, where beauty can be seen everywhere you turn?"

A stroke of anger fills him. His brow furrows, his eyes narrow, his fists clench. "Where there is beauty in life, there is always pain and suffering as well. People turn their backs on you, use you for their own selfish purposes. Forget you even exist. Leave you out of important decisions, instead, make those decisions for you!"

He turns his head to his brother, his voice like acid. "The sun highlights the good, but it hides the bad, the evil, of the world! Evil always triumphs, from a predator catching its prey, to meaningless wars! There's always someone above you, always someone making the orders! I'm not following them anymore! I'm making my own decisions now!"

He returns his gaze to the water below. "And my decision is to leave the evil behind."

He begins to take the last step of his life – the step that will send him over the edge – but another body tackles him to the ground, holds him down. He struggles, the dam of emotions overflowing. He's crying but he's angry, he's scared but he's frustrated. He wants out. He just wants to die.

"Let me go! Let me go!" he yells, over and over. He tires himself out, finally, just cries into his brother's chest. His brother sits them both up, pets his hair, hushes him. He grips the man's shirt in his hands, sobbing, "Let me go. Let me go …"

"I can't do that, brother," the man's calm voice replies. With a start, he realizes that although his brother's voice is calm, he is crying as well – his body shakes as he cries, too.

He pleads softly, yet without much conviction, "Please … just let me go … let me go …"

And his brother repeats, "I can't do that, brother." His brother buries his face in silver hair, inhales deeply, chokes back a sob. "_Never_ … never ask me to do that …"

OoOoOo

_**Um … well … *clears throat* … That was, uh, a lot more poetic than I'd intended. I couldn't think of a place to end it, so if it seems abrupt, that's why. Poor Iceland and Norway … Why do I always torture them?**_


	4. Day Thirty: Under the Rain

_**I'm trying something new today! I've never written anything for the Asians (nor have I RP'd any of them) so this is my first try. In other words, they're bound to be OOC, so please go easy on me. However, I am open to any advice on the characters (I'm not entirely certain how all the characters of Hetalia act, mostly because I've never read the manga).**_

OoOoOo

**THIRTY: Under the Rain**

_Characters: South Korea, China, (brief) Japan_

_Pairing(s): South Korea/China (is there a name for that?)_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): romance_

OoOoOo

"YOUR BREASTS ARE MINE, DA ZE!"

Japan froze, eyes wide, as the hands of his younger brother groped his chest. Said younger brother laughed at Japan's obvious discomfort.

"C-can you please let go of me?" Japan said quietly. Korea pretended not to hear … although he definitely heard his aniki* yelling at him.

"Really, Korea aru? You are so immature! Let go of Japan this instant!"

Hearing China's voice, Korea hid a wince and backed away from Japan. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, although he had a mischievous look on his face. Add to that his curl, and he looked absolutely adorable.

As soon as Japan was released, he bolted, leaving China to lecture Korea.

And Korea _may_ be perfectly fine with that.

If only he could get China to loosen up a little, though …

China stomped over to him, his 'angry face' in place. Korea took a step forward to claim the older man's 'breasts', but China held up his wok in warning. Korea stood still.

"Why do you always do this, aru? You are such a child, aru. Why don't you find a new hobby, aru?"

Korea tried not to flinch. China's '-aru' tic was getting worse. That meant China was _really_ angry. So, how can he make China … un-angry? He really didn't like it when the Chinese man was angry at him. It made him feel younger than he really was, which both embarrassed and annoyed him to no extent. He may be in the body of a 16-year-old, but he _was_ a nation. He wasn't _actually_ 16.

And that made him wonder … if China thought he was 16 and acted as though he was 16 … would China only look at him as a child, and not as a person? Would he ignore him if he just said –

No, it's not the right time. China would never listen to him. Wait, China's talking – what's he saying?

"– again, aru! Are you even listening to me, aru!"

"Look, aniki! It's raining outside!"

And, indeed, it was. It was light, and rain was cool … Korea suddenly thought of a great idea. He grabbed China's hand and pulled him outside, much to the older nation's protests.

"Come on!" Korea laughed. "Playing in the rain was invented in me, da ze~"

"Let go of me this instant, aru! This is childish, aru!"

Before China could argue any more, Korea leaned over and kissed him. He pulled back, placing a hand up to his lips shyly. Did he really just do that?

Seeing China's shocked face, Korea grinned.

"Kissing under the rain was also invented in me, da ze~"

For a moment, nothing happened. Korea kept his smile on his face, although internally, he was crying. He'd just ruined it. He'd just ruined any chance of China loving him. Why had he even thought he'd have a chance in the first place? He was just stupid South Korea. There's no way China would have ever considered –

China leaned over and kissed him.

OoOoOo

_**Keep in mind that my forte is angst/drama. I don't do romance, fluff, whatever you wanna call it. I'm not good at it.**_

_**This story was inspired by this picture (remove the spaces):**_

_** shisukoisa. deviant / gallery/ 32705072#/ d2zsunm**_

_**I can't tell if they're in the rain or not, but at first glance, I thought they were, so I went from there.**_

_**And I happened to write this just before South Korea's birthday! Not intentional, but I feel happy that I wrote**_ something_** for at least **_one_** of the countries' birthdays.**_

_**Also, I wanted to add things like –chan and –san to Japan's speech, but I don't know what they mean. They're all for respect, right? But at what level of respect? Or have I completely misunderstood? Someone please help me!**_

_***Aniki – this is what Korea calls China, right? I think it means brother, but I'm not sure. Again, help is appreciated!**_

_**My author's notes are longer than the story itself … **_

_**Review, da ze!**_


	5. Day Fifty-Five: Waiting

_**Can someone tell me if I have to say the word/phrase of the day in the story, or if it can just be implied? So far, I've written the word(s) in the story, but some of the others I think it would work better if I didn't. Thanks!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-FIVE: Waiting**

_Characters: Canada; (brief) Norway, Iceland, France, Great Britain/England_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family/hurt/comfort without the comfort_

OoOoOo

For as long as he could remember, he'd been waiting. Always, always waiting. When he'd had his first thoughts, he'd realized he'd been alone in a vast land. Well, alone as in, there hadn't been anyone like him. Just the natives. So he'd waited and waited for someone like him.

And they came, after a long time. There had been two of them, one with blonde hair and blue eyes, the other with silver hair and purple eyes. He'd watched them, listened to them converse in a tongue he didn't understand, waited for them to find him – for if they found him, he meant they were like him, right? His people didn't seek him out; he sought them out for food and shelter when need be.

But these two were different. He could feel it. But what if the feeling was wrong? So he'd waited for one of them to find him and to take care of him. And find him they did. He'd been so excited – finally, his waiting had paid off!

He was shy around them, but they seemed to understand and never pushed him. As their people settled on his lands, he finally learned the language they spoke. He'd been so proud of his first words in their language – 'brothers'. He remembered the shock and adoration on their faces, more so on the blonde-haired boy's face than the silver-haired one. He supposed it had to do with their ages. The blonde-haired boy – who'd called himself Norge – looked to be a teenager in human years. The silver-haired boy – Ísland – looked to be around 10. He himself looked to be around 5.

They'd promised to protect him and to care for him.

And, like a fool, he'd believed them.

One day, both Norge and Ísland left, along with their people. They'd said they'd come back for him. They said it was only temporary. He'd cried, but had known that he belonged with his people. But they'd be back, so he'd be a big boy.

And so he waited. And waited.

It was several hundred years later until someone else found him. This person wasn't at all like Norge or Ísland. But someone had arrived from somewhere else. Maybe they'd sent someone in their place? But he didn't recognize the new man's language.

Not until people settled in his lands.

He wasn't happy, but he wasn't miserable, either. Maybe Norge and Ísland would find out what was happening and save him? Help him? So he waited for them. He waited for them, and eventually gave up.

But when another man with funny eyebrows showed up and took him away, he no longer waited for Norge and Ísland. He waited for the man called France to save him, for this new man – Great Britain – was mean to him. Great Britain forced his new people – the ones from France – to leave his land, and treated his native people horribly. He cried and begged for Great Britain to stop.

Eventually, he stopped begging and stopped waiting for someone to save him.

He'd adapted over the years, through his independence. But he was still waiting. He was waiting for his former caretakers – all of them – to remember him and find him again. He was waiting for his brothers and for his fathers.

Waiting for his family.

OoOoOo

_**I'm not very good at happy endings. It was supposed to be happier at the end, but I couldn't get it right, so I left it here.**_

_**In case you don't know: Vikings from Norway or Iceland (I hear both, but since 'Icelanders' were Norwegian settlers, I say they're from Norway, but anyway) discovered the Americas around the year 1000, I believe. They were forced to abandon their settlements (which were in modern-day Canada, I can't remember where exactly) for unknown reasons. **_

_**France was next to take land in Canada. It had a colony called 'Acadia', which was modern-day Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. Eventually, it spread its power over the rest of Canada, I think. Well, there were more colonies than just Acadia, anyway.**_

_**Great Britain and France fought a lot (as we all know XD) and eventually GB got Acadia and was really bad to the Acadians. They were forced out to the other English colonies (13 colonies in America). Again, eventually GB got control of the rest of Canada (then called New France).**_

_**I could be wrong on some of these. I've only done extensive research on Acadia and know very little of the Vikings. I know next to nothing of how GB got control of Canada.**_

_**Sorry for the history lesson that most of you probably didn't read. I'm a huge history fan and love it when people write Hetalia fics about history. Not just about pairings (although I do that too … just … not happy endings …).**_

_**Review please!**_


	6. Day Sixty-Three: Do Not Disturb

_**So, according to my Traffic Stats (and the fact that no one reviewed for chapters 3 and 4), you guys want to read the depressing angst that is Iceland. No surprise, there. I'm bad at fluffy happy stuff and angsty Iceland is my forte.**_

_**I'll try my best to do angsty Iceland, but not all of the prompts have even remotely depressing themes. Well, unless I twist them. A lot. And I have ideas that have angsty other characters, not just Iceland. Please give them a chance when I post them!**_

_**And because no one answered my question at the beginning of last chapter, I'll keep putting the word(s) of the prompt into the story unless it doesn't fit into the story at all.**_

OoOoOo

**SIXTY-THREE: Do Not Disturb**

_Character(s): Iceland; unnamed person; (mentioned) Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: __**M (PLEASE NOTE THIS EVERYONE!)**_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

He enters the motel room, dressed in clothes that barely cover him. He notes how the room is lit by two lamps, one in the corner, one on a desk. Not romantic in the slightest. There is another man in the room. His client. This man seems to be in his fifties, with thinning gray hair and a beer belly. The man – whose name he will never know, so he calls him John, for John Doe – looks disgusting. But it's not his job to question the client. It's his job to make the other feel good.

There are no words said. John motions for him to lie on the bed. As he does so, John places a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door handle and closes the door, locking it afterwards. Iceland waits to be told to do something, but when nothing happens, he's forced to speak.

"What do you want?" His voice sounds distant, even to him. "Fuck you, fuck me, all the way, part of the way?"

He sees the lust in the man's eyes grow. "I like a boy with an accent. Keep talking." One of the perks of being Icelandic. Or, rather, the country of Iceland. Many clients love his accent. This man is one of them, if the tent in John's pants is any indication.

"Well, what would you like me to say?" he asks huskily. He doesn't know what John wants from him, so he does the basic first step: removing his clothes. He trails his hands up his chest as he pulls off his shirt. He stretches as he fully removes it.

"Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it," he says. He wishes John would give him more direction. He slowly pulls off his tiny, tiny shorts, leaving skimpy underwear. He puts his thumbs into the sides of his underwear, pushes them down ever-so-slightly.

"If you want toys, I have them," he winks. "If you want to make it kinky, it costs extra. You want to watch? Or do you want to do?"

John finally makes a decision. "Touch yourself."

Ah, a voyeur. Iceland does as asked, bringing one hand up his flat stomach, over his pale chest. He feels his member harden, rubs it with his other hand. In what seems like no time at all, he's panting and thrusting himself, tweaking his nipples and arching into his own touch. A glance at his client shows him that John has stuffed a hand down his pants and is stroking himself.

Just as he is about to climax, John practically leaps onto the bed and stops him. Against his will, Iceland moans and whines. He's so close. But what the client wants, the client gets. John tears his underwear down to his boots, completely exposing his throbbing member. His thighs are pushed open, and John – fingers lubed – sticks a finger into Iceland's entrance.

Iceland yelps in surprise. He does his best to ignore the pain, even as fingers two and three enter him. He's used to it, though. He knows what's coming, and how it will feel so, so good. Better than Norway would think. Norway, who had caught him once and had tried to convince him to stop. Norway, who told him that sex isn't just something you do, that you need to love someone. Norway, who just doesn't understand that Iceland is addicted to sex, and that he will get it from anywhere.

Norway, who doesn't know that Iceland still does this.

Iceland pushes those thoughts away, focuses on widening his legs and preparing for the pain. The man's member enters him, doesn't wait, starts moving right away. Iceland is in intense pain, but it still feels good. He moves his hips in time to the thrusts. With each one, he feels himself quickly returning to his climax. John takes a hand and pumps Iceland's own member. He bucks up into the hand. And soon, he arches his back and climaxes.

John moves away from Iceland. Without another word, a handful of cash is thrown at him. Iceland quickly cleans himself up, dresses, and heads for the door, where he tosses the Do Not Disturb sign back into the room.

OoOoOo

_**That was my first time writing something like that. Well, when it isn't in an RP or whatever.**_

_**Review please! Tell me what characters you want, what genres you want, etc. I don't know what you guys want to read unless you tell me (and I'll do my best to write them). Although, the more freedom I have with the 'plot' or whatever, the better. (Last time I took a detailed request, it took me about 5 months to write it. And it wasn't even that long.)**_


	7. Day Seventy-Eight: Drink

_**Why does no one review?**_

_**Oh, well. I'm still having fun :)**_

OoOoOo

**SEVENTY-EIGHT: Drink**

_Characters: Iceland, Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/family_

OoOoOo

He was drunk off his ass, and he knew it. He got like this a lot in recent years. But today – or, rather, the date – was what made him drink more than usual, an amazing feat in itself. He couldn't remember when he'd first started drinking, or why. He only knew that he couldn't stop, especially on that day.

The day that Norway, his so-called "brother," had abandoned him.

He took another swig, straight from the bottle of – what was it this time? Did it even matter? He shook his head, realized it made him dizzy, and stopped. He stumbled on his feet – why was he even drinking standing up, anyway? There's the couch – but it's so far away – and so he continued swaying in his spot.

Fuck Norway. He didn't need the older nation, anyway. All the blonde did was cause him trouble and drag him into unions he never agreed to be part of. He punched the wall weakly with his free hand. Fucking Kalmar Union.

Oh, sure, it had been fine at first, until shit happened and Sweden and Finland left. Oh, and don't forget when Norway abandoned him. He'd been alone with Denmark, who'd always been drunk off his ass … kind of like he was now. He raised a shaking hand to his face. He was just like Denmark, wasn't he? Only he didn't treat other people like shit.

The doorbell rang. He cussed in his native tongue. Why didn't the world know to leave him the fuck alone, especially on that day? The doorbell rang again. He stumbled over to the door, tripping over bottles strewn across the floor in the process. He finally managed to figure out how to turn the doorknob and pull.

And there was the reason he was so out of it.

Norway, in all of his glory, stood there, shivering from the cold. The blonde took one look at him and said, tone slightly incredulous, "Are you drunk?"

He snickered. He raised the bottle of whatever. "You want a drink?"

Norway stepped inside and shut the door. "You're drunk."

"I thought we established this already," he slurred. He tried to take another gulp from the bottle, only to discover it empty. He cussed, dropped the bottle onto the floor, and turned shakily towards the kitchen, where more bottles awaited.

Norway surveyed the room. "You're a mess."

He snickered. He finally found another bottle and struggled to open it. Upon doing so, he tilted his head back and swallowed more of the liquid. Norway took the bottle from him as soon as he finished, pouring the rest of the drink down the drain.

"H-hey! I was drinking that!" he pointed an accusing finger at his brother. This action somehow caused him to lose his balance, and he found himself falling to the floor. Norway caught him halfway down, and set him carefully in an upright position on the ground.

"You've had enough," Norway said.

He shook his head, once again found the movement dizzying, and stopped. "Can't tell me what to do," he murmured.

"I can if I find that you're so drunk you can't stand up."

"And whose fault is that?" he snapped, glaring at Norway.

Norway raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry if I don't understand how _you_ getting drunk is _my_ fault."

He raised an arm and attempted to hit Norway, missing by several inches. "You left me with Denmark for years! You think I didn't pick up anything from him?" He tried to stand, only to fall as soon as he'd made it to his knees. Norway caught him, but this time held him up by his shoulders.

"Drinking isn't the only think you picked up from him." It wasn't a question. Norway could always see the bigger picture.

"You left me," he hissed. Norway only watched as the younger of the two grew angrier. "You _left_ me. You LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME, YOU LEFT ME, YOU LEFT ME!"

He was trying to hit Norway, but after ever attempt, he ended up losing his balance. And each time, Norway caught him. He found himself crying as he screamed the same three words at his brother, until he gave up yelling and just cried.

Norway pulled him against his chest. He cried into Norway's shirt as Norway rubbed his head.

"You left me," he murmured half-heartedly.

Norway continued petting his hair. "I did." He wrapped his arms around the younger in an awkward hug. "But I'm not leaving now."


	8. Day Forty-Four: Two Roads

_**So, I know that my best stories/drabbles/whatevers seem to be best when I write angsty!Iceland. However, one: South Korea's birthday is tomorrow; and, two: I've been listening to Super Junior all. Day. So I'm in a Korean mood.**_

_**But I'm trying to make it angsty. Why do I like angsty characters so much?**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-FOUR: Two Roads**

_Characters: Korea; (mentioned) China, Japan, Allies_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

He was alone, in his bed, in his house, with no one he cared about around him. So he let his real self show. He cried and screamed and curled into a ball to fight the pain. He felt himself splitting apart – figuratively, however, he wondered when it would become literally. He brought a hand up to his mouth and bit into his knuckles until blood was drawn. Tears streamed down his face, onto the sheets beneath him.

It hurt. It hurt so bad and he didn't know how to make it stop. For good. He bore the weight of both the people of North and South Korea. Him? He was just Korea. So he couldn't handle both of their pain, both of their losses, both of their conflicts. He screamed as pain flashed through his chest and head. They were going to kill him. His own people were going to kill him by fighting each other.

Why didn't anyone notice the harm this caused him? China – his hyung-nim – had sided with North Korea … the part of him that hurt the most and changed his mental state the most. His tears fell faster. Why? Why had China done that? Where was the logic?

He couldn't even remember when the pain stopped. When the pain went away, it was for such a short time that he never even noticed it was gone. It was with him at all times of the day, of the night. But no one else noticed. So he pretended he was as he'd always been: silly, a little dumb, immature. That was his South Korea side.

His North Korea side was brutal, wanted to take South Korea and merge them together. He feared the day this would happen, if at all. It was his North Korea half of him that fought inside of him the most. The people there – God, the people there were scared, were hurt, wanted help but none has been given.

He stumbled through his pain-filled haze to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. He sneered at his reflection. Pitiful. Look at him, tearing apart. And whose fault was it? The Allies. China. Japan. The Allies talked big but did nothing. China was practically under his control, whether the other knew it or not, and yet China didn't know what he was capable of. Japan had taken him, controlled him, hurt him, and then come to him, pleading for forgiveness? His eyes darkened. He has nuclear weapons. Why not use them? Gain a little land, gain a little respect.

He gasped. His eyes widened. Tears once again fell. No, no! What had he been thinking? He hated war. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Not when they'd hurt him so much already –

But they didn't mean to.

They haven't done anything to help, either.

This wasn't their problem, anyway.

He should use this to his advantage and attack!

What about his family?

Family meant nothing anymore, as Japan so nicely showed him.

He gripped his head and leaned heavily against the wall. No, no, he had to focus! He had to get control of himself! But which part of him was the one in control? He didn't know anymore. They both had equal power over him. Which one was he going to become?

He felt like he was being pulled down two roads. His South Korea side wanted to be peaceful. His North Korea side wanted to wage war. Both wanted to reunify as one Korea – but under which government? Could he really handle it? Did it even matter?

He didn't have any say, anyway. It was up to his people – his dumb, stupid people, just like him – to figure out which half was going to be in control. He'd waited for years for one half to dominate the other. It hadn't happened. He was being torn into two, painfully, just waiting for his mind to go down a set path as made by the dominant government.

He was tired of waiting for his fate. He reached blindly for his razor blade.

He was going to make his own path.

OoOoOo

_**I love angsty stories! Sorry, I already put that up top …**_

_**This is only meant to be a teensy-weensy bit historically accurate. I don't know much about the Korean War or about the state either country is in now. I mean no offense and was simply writing how I saw Korea would take it. (I don't like the whole 'Let's make an evil twin for Yong Soo!' thing. I prefer him having multiple personality disorder, kind of, with both personalities struggling for control.)**_

_**Tell me what you think! Good? Bad? Horrible?**_


	9. Day Forty-Eight: Childhood

_**Whoa, chapter views went /way/ down. What did I do?!  
**_

_**Seriously, you guys, review. Please? I want to know what you like and what you don't like (especially because I'm getting spin-off ideas based on these drabble things that I may or may not write).**_

OoOoOo

**FORTY-EIGHT: Childhood**

_Characters: Iceland; (brief) Denmark, Norway; (mentioned) Sweden, Finland_

_Pairings: none_

_Rated: __**M (PLEASE NOTE THIS – I MARKED WHERE THE M IS)**_

_Genre(s): angst/drama_

OoOoOo

Iceland supposed the main reason he was so … cold … was because of his past. He'd never had a happy upbringing. Hell, he didn't even have a childhood. It was as if he'd appeared, and then suddenly, he was being pulled from one alliance to another. And he'd had no say in it. Thank God he was independent now. Never again would he allow himself to be ruled over.

Childhood … What would it have been like? To actually be able to play, to laugh, to smile? To not have a nation's burden on his shoulders? He sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. Sometimes, he wished he wasn't a nation. Then maybe he wouldn't hate everyone so much.

**/flashback\\\**

_He opened his eyes for the first time. For a moment, he was only a child, a toddler, lost on an island. Then images of the island plagued his thoughts, images of people. But not his people, for he didn't have people. But if he didn't have people, then why was he there?_

_He had to find the answer to this. Had the people on his island become his? Why? How? He toddled towards where he hoped he'd find someone, anyone, to try and sense whether or not he actually existed, for a nation existed as long as his people did._

_The first man – no, teenager – he came across was someone like him. A boy with blonde hair and dark blue-violet eyes. He held no expression on his face – but why? Didn't the other boy want to show emotions like everyone else?_

_The boy spotted him, and went to him. "What is your name?"_

_He opened his mouth to reply that he didn't have one, when something in his mind made him say, "Iceland." Yes, that's who he was. Iceland._

_The boy seemed surprise for a moment, but quickly covered it up. "I'm Norway. I'm your big brother."_

_Norway took his hand and led him away. Little Iceland skipped alongside him._

**/flashback end\\\**

Iceland sighed. He'd had a childhood for a few days. Even though he hadn't technically been under Norway, the blonde had influenced him greatly. He wished he hadn't listened to Norway. He wished he'd gotten away while he could. Still, he'd been a child, even if not completely in mind, but in body. Yet he was definitely young.

He closed his eyes.

**/flashback\\\**

_He hated Norway. Hated him, more than anyone else in the world._

_He'd been fine on his own. Norway already influenced him, why did the older boy have to take control of him, too? He hated the loss of his freedom, the loss of his independence. But it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. He didn't have the strength to fight anyone, much less Norway._

_That was the last time he showed emotion to anyone. He'd been an open book, and Norway had taken advantage of him. Never again would someone fool him._

_Years later, he was dragged into a union with Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. He hated this even more. Norway wasn't the one in charge of his island. Denmark was. And Denmark didn't care how his people fared._

_His health suffered from this._

_Norway didn't help him._

_He stopped hoping._

**/end flashback\\\**

Iceland scoffed to himself. He'd been so naïve to think anyone cared about his wellbeing. He was just land to them. He supposed that's all he was. He didn't have friends, and he sure as hell didn't have family.

He frowned at the next – and hopefully last – memory that hit him.

**/flashback\\\ [RATED M STARTS HERE]**

_Slap._

_Crash._

_Smack._

_He took each hit without a sound, without an ounce of emotion on his face. He struggled to keep the tears in, but somehow managed to succeed. He refused to look at the man before him, the man who took out all of his drunken frustrations on the teenager._

_He was pushed roughly onto the bed, his clothes practically ripped from his body. He closed his eyes in humiliation. The older man pushed his member into Iceland's hole dry. Iceland couldn't help but scream in pain and fear. His cry earned him a sharp hit to the face._

_Hands gripped his hips tightly. The other's cock moved brutally inside of him, bringing Iceland no pleasure, only more pain. Tears escaped his eyes, fell down his cheeks and onto the sheets beneath him._

_The older man cummed, but was by no means finished. He pulled over, forced Iceland onto his hands and knees, and entered again. Iceland screamed and cried, finally giving in. He shook so he could barely keep upright. With each thrust of his rapist's cock, he yelled and wished for someone to save him._

_He kept his eyes closed, but now, with the wish of a savior, he saw behind his eyelids Norway. The traitor who fucking left him with this monster. Iceland hated Norway more than the monster himself for making a teenager go through this._

_He didn't get any sleep that night._

_His ass hurt like hell for days afterward._

_Not like that stopped the monster._

**/flashback end\\\ [END OF RATED M]**

Iceland was surprised to find that he was crying. He opened his eyes.

No. He never had a childhood.

OoOoOo

_**Eh … would this even classify as 'drama'? I have no idea … Sorry for my crappy writing, though. I write each other these drabble things in about an hour. Or less. It's just something to keep me writing.**_


	10. Day Twenty-Six: Tears

_**Okay, so all day I was all 'la-dee-da!' and at 11:45 PM, I realized – SHIT! I haven't written anything for the meme thingy!**_

_**TO THE LIST!**_

_**And this is the result.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY-SIX: Tears**

_Characters: Iceland; (mentioned) Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

I haven't cried in years.

I've learned the hard way that there's no point.

To crying. Not life.

Although there's no point in that, either.

My 'brother dear' treated me as land.

Nothing else. Never anything else.

And, oh, how I despise calling my brother 'brother dear' or 'big brother' or anything of the sort.

Norway is no brother to me. Not with the way I was treated.

Not the way I was always left behind or dragged into things.

It was always one or the other. Never a happy medium.

I'm still left behind. By everyone.

You probably don't know this, but there's a reason why I wears gloves.

Why my eyes are purple.

Why my hair is a silver-white.

Why I refuse to show emotion, regardless of how angry I can get inside.

Gloves hide scars, don't they? Amazingly well, I might add.

Crystal blue and blood red make purple. If you didn't know that, you should probably not be reading this.

Silver is precious, but white is age. I may not be old physically. But mentally, I feels like an old man. Except when I feel anger – pure rage – course throughout my being. Not like I ever shows it.

Showing emotion does nothing except bring pity to the weak. And I am not weak. Not anymore.

I haven't cried in years, decades.

I'm crying right now.

Tears stain this page.

So does blood.

Soon it won't matter.

I hope your tears stain your face like they've stained mine.

I hope I haunt you for eternity.

OoOoOo

_**Regardless of how fast I wrote it (it's now 11:58 – I'm trying so hard to beat midnight. Why? 'cuz I feel like it), I really like how this turned out.**_

_**Take the end as you wish. But if you know my writing, you kinda get the idea of what happens.**_


	11. Day Thirty-Three: Expectations

_**So I had a really weird dream last night where Hong Kong killed/tried to kill me and my family. Random, I know. When I woke up, I was all like, 'dark!Hong Kong? But who would he try to kill?' And this happened.**_

_**I'm new to writing the Asians. And there's the whole, 'I barely know anything about Hong Kong's character' thing.**_

_**I hope you like this anyway!**_

_**And thank you to everyone who's reviewed! They make me happy as England when he sees all of his 'magical' friends. Or Prussia when he sees beer. Lots and lots'a beer.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-THREE: Expectations**

_Characters: Hong Kong; China; (mentioned) England, Japan_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): drama/suspense_

OoOoOo

Hong Kong waited for China to answer the door. His heart pounded, his eyes darkened, his breathing picked up. He felt the outline of his knife that was hidden – carefully – in his pocket. His blank facial expression betrayed none of his inner thoughts. He straightened up when he heard someone calling from the inside of the house.

"I'm coming! Just give me a second, aru."

The door opened, revealing to Hong Kong his victim. His stance didn't change. His face stared stonily at his 'brother'. Said 'brother' smiled at him and stepped aside.

"Hong Kong! It's been awhile since I've seen you, aru. Come in, come in!"

_He's too cheerful and happy for someone who is going to die. _He stepped into the house, vaguely noticing China shutting the door behind him. _That will soon change. I want him to scream and beg me for mercy. And I'll be sure to give him none._

"I'm so glad you're here, aru. I haven't talked with you in a long time. Would you like some tea, aru?"

Hong Kong shrugged, finally turning to look at China. The Chinese man walked past him and into the kitchen to make the tea. Hong Kong took the time to quietly lock the door. _It wouldn't do to have him run away._

China reappeared a little bit later with the tea. China had to turn his back on Hong Kong to set the tray down. Hong Kong slunk closer to the older man. He brought out the knife and raised it, ready to make the first blow.

Unfortunately for him, China caught the movement from his peripheral vision and moved out of the way. Hong Kong recovered and pivoted to face him. China looked at him in confusion and betrayal.

"Hong Kong? What are you doing, aru?"

Hong Kong loved how China's voice trembled with fear, coated with sadness. He took a few steps closer. China took a few steps backwards, memories of when Japan tried to kill him coming to mind. _No, not again, not another one! Please, no, I can't do this a second time. Let this be a dream._

Hong Kong sneered, the first expression he'd made in China's presence for a long while. "What, you thought we could go back to the way things were?"

It had been years since they'd been a 'family'. Some of them had left. Hong Kong had been taken. China had done nothing to help him. Hong Kong was now thankful that England had taken him away. True, he wasn't the best father in the world, and his cooking was horrible, but he'd made Hong Kong realize that China didn't care about him.

"_My brother will come for me! He won't just leave me!" little Hong Kong yelled in Chinese._

_England laughed down at him. "Scream all you want, but you'd better learn English fast if you want me to understand you."_

_OoOoOo_

"_My brother … will … save me," Hong Kong spat in broken English._

_England smirked. "Then why hasn't he come for you yet? He never even fought for you!"_

"_That not true!"_

"_He left you with me because he didn't want a little baby brat on his hands."_

_OoOoOo_

"…_He's not coming, is he?" older Hong Kong muttered bitterly, sitting at the dinner table across from England, who he'd come to look at as a father._

_England sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."_

"…" _Hong Kong hid his heartbreak behind an emotionless mask – the first time he'd done so, and certainly not the last. "That's what I thought."_

Angered by these memories, Hong Kong lashed out at China, aiming for the chest. China barely managed to get away, but kicked Hong Kong – with a regretful wince – in the side. Hong Kong stumbled backwards but refused to fall. He swung the knife again. He managed to knick China in the arm, barely. China cried out, not so much in pain, but in shock that Hong Kong would do such a thing.

Hong Kong kicked China's feet out from under him in the latter's moment of surprise. China hit the ground with a thud. He rolled away quickly as Hong Kong aimed to stab him again. Hong Kong, not expecting this, lost his balance. China took the chance to tackle his legs. Hong Kong fought for control, but China was stronger, and soon, he had the younger Asian lying on his back, his hands keeping a tight hold on Hong Kong's wrists. He took the knife and threw it away from Hong Kong's reach.

"Hong Kong! Stop this, aru!" _Please, please stop this. I don't want to die, and I don't want to lose you again. Although it seems I've already lost you._

Hong Kong struggled beneath China. "Why should I?"

With a bit more jostling, Hong Kong managed to flip China off of him using his feet. China grunted when he landed hard on his back. Hong Kong ripped his wrists from China's grasp. China took hold of the knife to prevent Hong Kong from getting it. Hong Kong took one of the cups of tea and threw it at China in frustration and anger. China dodged, pushing himself up onto his knees.

"What has Opium done to my brother?" China asked sadly. Hong Kong gritted his teeth and threw the other cup. China, once again, dodged.

"This has been a long time coming, China. England has nothing to do with it."

"Obviously, he does, aru! My brother would never –"

Hong Kong was over by China in a flash, gripping onto the older man's neck tightly. "We're not brothers," he hissed lowly, ignoring the pain in China's eyes. "You gave up the right to call us that when you let me be taken away." _Not that I really care so much about being taken away. It's the fact that you _let_ me be taken away that I hate._

China pushed against Hong Kong. Somehow, Hong Kong tripped and fell onto the hot tea and broken cups that he'd thrown. He ignored the burns and the pain of broken shards digging into his skin. He lunged at China, who used Hong Kong's momentum to send him into the wall.

China held Hong Kong's shoulders against the wall. He looked into the teen's eyes, tried to find any ounce of the old Hong Kong in there. Seeing none, but still believing that Hong Kong could be brought back to his senses, China yelled, "It wasn't my fault, aru! I tried my best to keep you!"

Hong Kong snorted, a weird noise to go with his still-blank expression. "Not hard enough." He tried to head-butt China, but the latter moved his head.

"Opium has brainwashed you, aru! Why can't you see that?" China all but begged Hong Kong.

He'd wanted for so long to see his brother ever since England had given him back. Hong Kong had been there at the 'exchange', but other than that, had avoided China. China had been excited when Hong Kong had showed up at his house. Now, he hated it. He wished he'd never had to see this side to his brother.

"How many times do I have to tell you? England has nothing to do with this!" Hong Kong shouted back. Surprisingly, he wasn't trying to get free. China kept his guard up – oh, how he hated that he couldn't trust his own brother.

"Yes he does, aru! If you should be angry at anybody, it should be Opium. He's the one who took you away in the first place! He's the one who changed you! Do you even realize you're speaking English? That you never used to be like this before he had control of you?"

"And who _let_ me be taken? That's right, it was you!"

"I tried –"

"Don't lie to me!" Without realizing it, China let his hands fall to from Hong Kong's shoulders. They not rested angrily in his lap. He didn't even remember he held a knife in his hand.

"Opium has changed you! Your language, your clothes, how you look, how you act. You don't belong like this, aru. It's his fault. Stop trying to fight me, aru!"

Hong Kong glared at China. "Sorry I don't live up to your expectations," he snapped.

He pushed forwards, intending to startle China enough so he could get the knife back and stab him. China saw the motion at the last minute and raised his arms to push back –

When Hong Kong froze.

With a sickening feeling in his gut, China looked down. The knife's blade had been pointing outwards. Hong Kong hadn't taken it into account that China could have moved.

China had stabbed his brother in the stomach.

Hong Kong collapsed onto China. China rolled him off and onto his back. Tears fell from his cheeks as he watched the light in Hong Kong's eyes slowly go out.

"I'm sorry, aru. I'm sorry." _I didn't mean to! I lost him. I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him …_

He buried his face in Hong Kong's chest, sobbing. He cried harder when he couldn't hear a heartbeat, or feel the rise and fall that showed that Hong Kong was breathing.

_This is my fault._

OoOoOo

_**Crap ending is crap.**_

_**I actually think this turned out a lot better than I thought it would.**_

_**Review!**_


	12. Day Fifteen: Silence

_**This came out of nowhere. I don't even know … I knew the ending before the rest of it, so if it looks weird, that's why.**_

_**Also, I'm trying this new style of writing. Again. (I did something similar back with 'Tears'.)**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTEEN: Silence**

_Characters: the Asians (I don't want to spoil anything else)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): suspense/drama_

OoOoOo

He was done.

With being treated like a child.

Smirk. Chuckle.

Raised eyebrows. Questioning him, but ultimately ignoring him.

Anger. Fury. Rage.

Clouding his mind.

Reveals his weapon.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Lunges.

Attacks.

Dodging. Anger. Misses.

Swing. Leap.

Another dodge.

Why is it so hard?

"Stop! Calm down, da ze!"

"We can talk about this, ana!"

Toss. Kick.

Thud. Thud.

Crack.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

Heavy breathing.

Hands pull at him. Knee. Elbow. Swing. Slam.

Impact.

Thump.

Screams.

Crying.

Smirk. Chuckle. Wields weapon.

"Think about this, ana!"

Swing. Dodge. Miss.

Anger. Hate.

Twist. Catch. Snap. Release.

Thud.

Screams.

"No, stop it, da ze!"

"We're family, remember?"

Bang. Crash.

Screams.

No stopping now.

Red. Red everywhere.

Slam. Push.

Groan.

"Don't!"

Searing pain. Sharp. Sudden.

Wet.

Falling. Darkness.

"I'm sorry, China-san."

Black.

Silence.

OoOoOo

_**Whelp … That probably made no sense whatsoever to you readers. But if you DID understand it, were you surprised by who it was?**_

_**Or did I make this so poorly that no one understands what happened?**_


	13. Day Fifty-Three: Keeping a Secret

_**So, I'm still not sure if I'm supposed to put the word(s) from the list into the drabble thing. In this one, I do not actually say what the words are. I just don't think they would flow well with the story.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-THREE: Keeping a Secret**

_Characters: Norway; Denmark; Iceland; (mentioned) Sweden_

_Pairing(s): pre-DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

He'd never been comfortable in his own body. He'd grown up feeling awkward about himself.

When both Sweden and Denmark had shown off their abs, he'd been jealous and felt out-of-place. He'd left the two and entered his bedroom. He'd leaned against the closed door and poked hesitantly at his non-existent abs. He'd felt nauseous when he realized just how squishy it was.

He'd turned to the mirror, lifted his shirt up, and stared at the horrible image that was his body. He'd poked at his 'abs' some more, noted how he needed to work a bit on them. He'd heard Denmark calling for him, so he let his shirt drop and left to find the annoying idiot.

Before he'd gone to bed that night, he'd done 200 sit-ups.

The next morning, in the bathroom, he'd stripped and taken a good look at his body. He'd realized that, along with the squishiness in place of hard abs, he had a pudgy stomach. And his thighs were out of proportion with his hips and butt – all three needed to lose some fat.

He'd skipped eating until dinner, and even then he'd only eaten an apple. Then another 200 sit-ups.

It went on like that for quite some time. He never told anyone else – he wanted it to be a surprise. When he was skinny enough, when he was perfect enough, he'd show them all. Denmark especially. Then maybe Denmark would make love to him, and they'd both admit their feelings.

That was his biggest motivation. Denmark. He wanted to be perfect for his potential lover. He'd loved Denmark for the longest time, but was too self-conscious to speak up about it. As soon as he was perfect and loveable and beautiful, he was going to confess. But not beforehand. He needed to lose weight, get better curves, get rid of that fat. After all, Denmark wouldn't want to touch and hold and mark an imperfect man.

The first time he'd binged, he'd been devastated. He'd eaten almost everything in the fridge. He could feel the food weighing him down. He'd cried and punched the wall. But all of that food at made him sick. He'd run to the toilet and thrown up. He'd been amazed at how light he felt afterwards – but he'd still felt full. And if he just exercised a bit more …

He ate meals when around people or when desperate, but purged afterwards.

Iceland had confronted him about his weight loss. He'd only shrugged and said he'd taken up exercising a bit more. Iceland hadn't been convinced but had left it alone. He'd felt bad about it, but he needed to be the perfect brother for Iceland, so until he was skinny enough, he wouldn't say anything.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd first started trying to become skinny. He just knew that he was in the habit of not eating breakfast or lunch, binging at dinner then purging afterwards, running laps around the neighborhood, doing 200 or more sit-ups, then weigh himself before bed.

Every night, he was not satisfied with the numbers on the scale. So he worked himself harder every day to make up for it.

He thought he'd been doing pretty good, until Denmark had made a surprise visit. The latter had caught him purging. His excuse of being sick seemed to work. The subject wasn't brought up again until that night, when Denmark insisted he sleep in the same bed as him. He'd agreed after a lot of whining. He regretted the decision when Denmark cuddled him and asked him,

"Why were you really throwing up earlier?"

He tried to get away, but Denmark had a firm grip on him. Denmark's eyes widened. He didn't know why. Denmark's hands traced over his arms, then lifted up his shirt. He protested, but the Dane was persistent. Denmark started crying, of all things, into his hair. He, too, began to cry.

"I know, I'm hideous and fat and horrible –"

Denmark shook his head frantically. "No. No, you're not. W-why would you ever think that?"

He leaned into Denmark. "I just want to be perfect for you, and for Iceland, and for everybody. I just want to look better and be skinnier and healthier."

Denmark grabbed one of his hands. "You're already perfect. But, Norge, this … what you're doing to yourself … it isn't healthy." He opened his mouth, but Denmark cut him off before he could speak. "You're sick. You need help. Please, let me help you."

"I don't need help," he snapped. "I'm fine. I just need to be a little bit skinner, and then I can be perfect for everyone."

"Norge, you need help. You're obsessed with your weight. With your looks. Let us help you. Let me help you."

He didn't reply. Denmark sat up and dragged him over to where the mirror was. Denmark's hands gently tugged his shirt up. He was forced to look at how ugly he was. He turned his gaze away.

"Look at yourself, Norge, and tell me you're okay." He ignored Denmark. "_Look at yourself_!"

Jumping at the sudden yell, he observed his body in the mirror. Denmark took off his own shirt.

"Look at the two of us," Denmark told him. He did so. He felt himself breaking. "Now tell me you're okay."

Instead of speaking, he turned his head into Denmark's chest and cried.

OoOoOo

_**Oh noes! I'm late! It's 12:08 AM and I'm laaate! *cries***_

_***coughs***_

_**Eh, this isn't one of my best. Sorry for the rushed ending. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! They're much appreciated.**_


	14. Day Eight: Innocence

_**Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next one. I hope you enjoy it. It was fun writing it.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHT: Innocence**

_Characters: Italy; (mentioned) Romano, Ancient Rome, America, Canada, Mexico_

_Pairing(s): none (but there's slightly implied Spamano and I guess Itacest, although it's … not really a pairing so much … make of it what you will)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): drama/crime (although more drama than crime, in my opinion)_

OoOoOo

He sat in his chair at the World Meeting, kicking his legs and smiling like the childish man they thought he was. In their eyes, he was stupid and annoying and naïve and a coward. To them, he was only able to make pasta and run away. He had an annoying, high-pitched voice; had a verbal tic 've'; shouted 'pasta~' a lot. He ran to Germany when he was scared, and when Germany wasn't available, he went to Romano.

Oh, how very silly they all were.

They greatly underestimated him. Very, very much, so that it would cost them their lives. He was the picture of innocence to them. He almost laughed. Almost. But unlike an annoying laugh like they all recognized, they would hear a dark, mocking laughter, and they would become suspicious of him. And he couldn't have that, now, could he?

He was actually quite intelligent. And manipulative. And ready to conquer all of these other nations. But he had to be sneaky about it, bide his time, for everyone saw how the Cold War and the World Wars had turned out. He had to be careful and make every little detail and decision precise. Slow and steady wins the race, and oh, how he was ready to win the race.

He played the fool and so that's all they expected of him. They expected him to run to Germany at the mention of something scary. They expected him to cry when Germany wouldn't let him make pasta. They expected him to be oblivious to how people thought about him.

Only Romano knew the truth. Those nights when he was 'scared to sleep alone' and 'Germany wouldn't let him' be near? He nearly laughed. Nearly. Whenever he went to Romano's house, he would … _persuade_ his brother to help him when the time came. At first, poor, little, weak Romano had refused, had been terrified of him. But eventually, he'd given in.

How, you ask? Why, it was quite simple, really. First, there was the fact that he threatened Romano's boy toy – oh, rather, Spain. Romano had tried his best to make like he didn't care what happened to the 'tomato bastard', but he could tell that his brother was very worried indeed. Second, he threw his brother around a bit: a kick of the stomach here, a punch to the chest there. Romano hadn't stood a chance. He was the real coward of the two.

The third and fourth things went hand-in-hand. These were the two things that he enjoyed doing. In fact, Romano always went crawling back to him. Yes, he sometimes threw a punch to Romano's jaw, but steps three and four – the most common means of persuasion he used – always made up for it. He'd use his Italian charm, which even his brother couldn't resist, and eventually, they ended up on a bed, on a couch, on a table, rubbing and mewling and panting. At the same time, he always murmured soothing, persuading words into his brother's ears. He had lost track of how many times he'd told Romano just how special he was, how talented he was, how handsome and adorable he was, how the two of them could show the world how perfect he was, how perfect _they_ were. And Romano, in the heat of passion, would agree and come up with his own ideas, ideas that the younger would always say no to, for they had to go by _his_ plan.

Romano would remain persuaded for two weeks tops, and then the whole process would repeat.

He eyed the nations in the room, keeping his smirk hidden. How dumb were they to believe that he was naïve and stupid? Have they forgotten the mafia? – He shook his head at the drop of his façade, most especially right before World War I broke out. And what about his grandfather, who once ruled all over the Mediterranean? – He nearly curled his lip; his grandfather had been too straightforward and had done too little to plan. And there's also the fact that his grandfather actually _was_ an idiot. But these nations, they believed that he truly acted like a child. In reality, he was old, older than Canada and America and Mexico and so many others. He was older and so he was wiser and smarter. Yet they seemed to have forgotten this very important detail.

He couldn't wait to kill all of the nations before him. He wasn't sure about Romano yet. At the moment, he just needed his brother to ensure that a civil war wouldn't break out when he started collecting his new land. But the other nations – oh, how surprised they will be. They will be so shocked and will plead for mercy when he tortured them, but he will give them none and ensure their death is long and painful. He wanted to remind them just whose grandfather had once been powerful. He wanted to show them that he was a nation to be feared.

But he would wait patiently until the time came.

Grandpa Rome hadn't been built in a day, you know.

OoOoOo

_**Yes. I managed to twist 'innocence' around so much that you probably hate me. You think this is bad? I looked at some of the other word(s) in the list and I have ideas for them … They're twisted around so much I don't even know how it got to that point. I'm trying to do things you wouldn't expect from the word(s), so don't hate me for making a happy word prompt be about killing people…**_

_**Review and let me know what you think!**_


	15. Day Thirty-One: Flowers

_**On to the next one!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-ONE: Flowers**

_Characters: can't say or it'll be a spoiler_

_Pairing(s): again, there's a pairing (somewhat), but it'll be a spoiler_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/tragedy_

OoOoOo

He picked another petal from the oxeye daisy in his hand. The pure white was tainted red as soon as he held it in his trembling fingers. He placed the petal – one of the last ones – into the ever-growing pile beside him. All of the petals drowned in the thick red substance that leaked from his body.

_He loves me._

It took him a moment to pull the next petal out. His strength had long ago left him. He lied on the bathroom floor, waiting for his blood to leave him. A wave of dizziness hit him. He rode the wave, taking refuge in it, away from reality. He waited to be pulled down into blissful nothingness, only to fade back into his own mind. He took the bloody petal in his fingers and placed it in the pile.

_He loves me not._

He choked on his tears, which fell from his cheeks and hit the bloodstained tiles beneath him. It was true, it had always been true. He felt himself fading, and waited with great anticipation. Was it finally over? Was the other side finally calling him down into its cold abyss? But yet again, he was pulled from its grasp.

_He loves me._

Another petal to the pile. How many petals would it take until he finally ran out of blood? There were only a few left on the flower, and he didn't have another one nearby. In fact, this was the last oxeye daisy he owned. He'd already played this game, over and over, hoping that fate would push him and his potential partner together. Instead, of the six flowers, five of them had ended with

_He loves me not._

He was now on his final flower, and he knew that it would end up as the other five had. He didn't know why he trusted his love life with a flower, of all things, but he was a lot better than the alternative: going to _him_ and confessing, only to get rejected. And laughed at. Called silly. He felt his consciousness sway even more. He was having trouble breathing. The blood stilled poured out of him. He closed his eyes and pulled the next petal out.

_He loves me._

With his eyes closed and his mind numbed, he didn't know how many petals were left, and even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to infer what the outcome would be. But he supposed it didn't matter. If five flowers had already destined him to not having his love returned, then the same must be of this one, as well. It took him a minute, but he finally got the next petal and placed it with its bloodstained brethren.

_He loves me not._

Before he could reach for the next petal, he felt another wave of dizziness hit him. He felt himself drowning, the sounds of thumping – what was it? – were quickly muffled. Without even realizing it, his hands fell limp, his head lolled to the side. The flower fell from his hand onto the floor, and was rapidly drowned in blood. There was but one petal left on the flower. Too bad he never had the chance to say –

"Lovi!"

_He loves me._

OoOoOo

_**Wow, that was depressing. Did you expect who it was? Or was it so very unclear that you had no idea?**_

_**I hope the entire thing makes sense. I'm always worried that – when I write like this where everything is implied and readers aren't told what's happening – you'll be so confused you won't like it. Let me know if this was too abstract or if I had just the right amount of detail for you to know what's happening.**_


	16. Day Ten: Breathe Again

_**So, this is connected to 'Day 17: Blood'. You don't have to read that one before this one. Actually, this is what happened pre-'Blood'.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TEN: Breathe Again**

_Characters: Iceland; Finland; (mentioned) Norway, Denmark  
_

_Pairing(s): none (well, DenNor if you look really, really, really hard)  
_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

He watches as Norway yet again ditches him. Norway pretends he hates Denmark, but Iceland knows that, at the very least, the two are brothers. But what about him? Norway is biologically his brother, so why isn't there bonding between them? Is he really that weak? That unwanted? Denmark is always teasing him. Iceland knows it's just teasing. Right? He doesn't rely on Norway. He doesn't get jealous. He isn't anti-social.

Right?

He's just … quiet. He doesn't like getting involved in other people's affairs. And if Norway doesn't express an interest in talking with him, then he'll let things be. And him, jealous? As if. He's perfectly fine on his own. He hasn't changed much in several years. He doesn't want to conform to other people's needs.

And yet he finds that he has. He's even quieter than he'd been before discovering he and Norway are brothers. He goes along with other countries' incessant teasing. After all, it's just a few jokes here and there, they're not trying to hurt him.

Norway doesn't know of the teasing. In fact, he does some teasing, too, by trying to get Iceland to call him 'onii-chan'. Iceland thinks this is ridiculous. Neither of them speaks Japanese, but Norway insists on being called that. A few times, Iceland gives in, and each time, he feels part of himself break. Being obedient isn't who he is. Being treated as a child when he is centuries old is frustrating.

But he just sits back and lets it happen.

Even though he has to hold back tears of embarrassment until he returns home, it's worth it. The other countries are getting a laugh, right? Norway doesn't notice – or doesn't care – so it must not matter, right? He's a big boy, he can handle it. And when he can't – when he's either so numb he doesn't know what to feel, or he's so upset and angry he needs an outlet – he turns to his only friend.

No, not Mr. Puffin, who teases him just as everyone else does. The blade of an old razor. The way it slices through his skin is marvelous, so precise and smooth. The way the blood exits through the cuts is magical, for they form little pictures on his arms as the red drips down from his wrists to his arms. The pain reminds him that he's still there, that he hasn't broken. The tightness in his chest lifts, and he is able to breathe again. Afterwards, he prepares for the next onslaught of teasing. And Norway either pestering him or ignoring him.

As soon as he sees Norway and Denmark leave, he heads to his bedroom. He doesn't bother to close his door – he's the only one home now, and no one cares enough about him to show up. He reaches under his bed for a pencil case. Inside it are razors other sharp objects, as well as gauze and other supplies to prevent infection. He removes his gloves and grabs his favorite razor – the one he usually carries around with him. He sits on his bed, cross-legged, and marks his wrist.

He gasps at the pain. With the pain comes clarity and peace, two things that he desperately needs. He needs more, though, and so cuts again. And again. And again. He wants all of the numbness away, wants the pain of being ignored and teased gone. Physical pain is much easier to control than emotional pain. Physical pain controls his emotional pain temporarily. Physical pain is easier to focus on.

And then it's gone. He's brought back into focus when a hand covers the one holding the blade. It's not his hand. That's all he knows. The other thing he knows is that's he's been caught. He's going to be forced to stop, and he doesn't want to stop. He needs the pain.

The not-his-hand gently pries the blade away from his grasp and places it out of his sight. He refuses to look up, afraid to see who has caught him. Whoever it is doesn't speak, but the air is tense, and Iceland knows that the other person is close to tears. Or maybe is crying silently. The other person finds the pencil case, removes the supplies to clean his cuts, and places the case far away. Neither of them speaks as the other person cleans and wraps his wrist.

Afterwards, the other person sits in front of him. The other is patient, and waits for him to speak. A few minutes – or hours – pass before Iceland can't stand it anymore. He lifts his head slowly to meet the eyes of the other.

Seeing Finland makes a torrent of emotion run through him. He holds back his emotions. Finland doesn't want to see them. But seeing Finland staring at him with sad, horror-filled eyes, waiting for him to speak, but not crying, Iceland bursts into tears. He latches onto Finland and cries. Finland holds him close, murmuring words of comfort in his ear. It is then that Iceland is reminded how the small man is, indeed, older than he is, and this makes him cry harder for reasons unknown.

"We'll fix this, Iceland, we'll help you," Finland says quietly, rocking the two of them gently. "You aren't alone. I'm here. I'm here."

Iceland is thankful that Finland doesn't ask the dreaded 'why'. He knows that Finland doesn't understand and will never understand. He doesn't want to stop, but he doesn't tell the other this. He just allows himself to be comforted, at least for the time being.

OoOoOo

_**Good? Bad? Review and let me know what you think!**_

_**Again, this comes before 'Blood', although you don't need to read that one first to understand this. Or vice versa.**_


	17. Day Twelve: Insanity

_**Zhe next vone is here! (Germany: …) Me: *blush* Eh, moving on …**_

_**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWELVE: Insanity**

_Character(s): I want it to be a surprise_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre: drama/friendship_

OoOoOo

Hello.

Are you new? I don't recognize you.

I've never heard of you, either. So you must be new.

Were you created to help me through these dark days?

Have you been hiding? Perhaps in the mountains?

Yes, yes, I see now. Great. Another friend.

You … you'll be my friend, now, _right_?

No, no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to yell!

Come back …

Please?

I'm alone. No one understands.

Who? Oh, you mean the others like you. Well, not like you, I suppose, but –

Well, I suppose …

Stop it! You're confusing me! Leave me alone!

Wait, no, come back, I'm sorry!

What are you –

I've never been … hugged by any of you before.

Why are you different?

I suppose it doesn't matter, now, does it?

You … you won't leave me, will you? Like everyone else?

I want to be some_one_, not just some_thing_. You understand, don't you?

Wh-why are you fading away? No, all of the others, too, they're fading away!

No, no, come back! Come back!

Whoever is touching me, let me go! I won't stand for this!

Stop it! I want my friends back!

…What do you mean, you can't see them?

Well, you're just too stupid to see them, then.

Leave me alone! I want them back!

Don't touch me!

Why … why'd you hit me? My face hurts now … _Why'd you hit me?_

I'm not crying. I'm not.

I want them back. They listen to me. They care about me.

No! They're not pretend! I'm not crazy!

…Why won't they come back?

No, it's your fault! You scared them away!

Stop shaking me! Stop yelling at me! Stop crying, idiot! I'm fine! Just leave me alone!

Why? Why won't you leave?

Is that all I am to you? Land?

Lukas. My name is _Lukas_. Not Norway. Norway is a country. I'm not land. I'm a person.

Leave me alone.

Please. I want them back. I just want them back.

…Stop hugging me. And stop crying. You're making me cry, too, idiot.

…Stop…

Wait!

…

Don't leave me alone.

OoOoOo

_**I hope that wasn't too confusing (I seem to say that a lot). **_

_**I wanted to do this in a onesided-conversation format due to the fact I've already written two Hetalia stories on insanity ('Losing Sight of What's Real' and 'Losing Sight of Yourself'). I wanted to make sure they were completely different. (I'm paranoid)**_

_**Let me know what you think!**_


	18. Day Five: Seeking Solace

_**I'm not sure if this is the correct definition or not.**_

_**I didn't write the words from the prompt into the story. In case it matters at all.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIVE: Seeking Solace**

_Character(s): Iceland; Norway; (brief) Denmark_

_Pairing(s): non-consensual DenIce; NorIce (but not romantically, so I guess it's not a pairing…?)_

_Rated: __**M (PLEASE NOTE THE RATING)**_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

Iceland cries and screams and protests as Denmark pounds relentlessly into him. He begs the older nation to stop. Denmark refuses. He grips Iceland's hips tightly, marks Iceland up and down his body, leaving bruises and bites. At long last, Denmark releases into him, and pulls out. Denmark saunters away as if nothing had occurred.

Iceland stumbles upstairs and to the bathroom. He showers, scrubs himself, washes out Denmark's seed with his finger, winces as the pain. He's glad the water disguises his tears.

As usual, he exits the shower, barely dries himself off, and practically runs to his bedroom. Norway is there, sitting on his bed, face blank. He is looking away as Iceland enters. When he hears the door shut and lock, Norway tenses, just the slightest of bits. He reluctantly turns to Iceland and sits patiently.

Iceland practically leaps onto Norway, pushing the latter onto his back. Their teeth clack as Iceland initiates a sloppy, unreturned kiss. He runs his hands through Norway's hair. Norway lies there and closes his eyes.

Impatient, Iceland tugs off both his and Norway's pants. Seeing Norway's penis limp, he tugs and rubs his brother's curl. Quickly, Norway is a moaning, panting mess. He grasps the bed, turns his head to the side, eyes still closed. Iceland brings his mouth to his brother's cock. Norway gasps. Iceland bobs his head, tries to rid the taste of Denmark's cock from his mouth.

As Norway is about to cum, Iceland stops. Norway breathes heavily. Iceland puts his fingers to Norway's lips. Norway sucks them, coats them his saliva, hoping to make it hurt less. Afterwards, Iceland pushes a finger into Norway's hole. He moves around a bit, adds a second finger. He stretches and moves, and, one finger at a time, eventually manages to get all of his fingers into Norway's hole.

He takes his hand back, lines his erection up, pushes in. Norway whines uncomfortably but otherwise does not make a sound. Iceland thrusts into Norway without waiting for the latter to adjust. He leans over his brother, one arm out to support him, the other rubbing Norway's chest and hips. He needs to be clean, he needs to erase what Denmark has put onto him.

Soon, he is pounding into Norway as Denmark had pounded into him shortly beforehand. The difference between then and now is that Norway is willing – he never complains, he never says no. Iceland wasn't, when Denmark takes him. Denmark is never gentle, never stretches his hole first. Iceland does. He doesn't want to hurt his brother.

Soon, both of them cum. Iceland pulls out. He collapses beside Norway. As usual, seeing what just happened, he starts crying. As usual, he curls up beside Norway, clings onto his brother's arm. As usual, he regrets the act he's just committed, even while knowing it's going to happen again.

As usual, Norway lies there, still and silent, not forgiving but not angry either. It is what it is. If this is what Iceland has to do, then he'll go with it.

But how long will it be before he needs someone to go to, as well?

OoOoOo

_**Not my best. At all. This is slightly based on another fanfiction I read (I can't remember it). I originally wasn't going to do this, but then I saw a picture on deviantart. It's actual Iceland, but the title and the picture made me think bad things, and somehow I came up with this.**_

_**Here's the picture (remove the spaces and add 'com/' at the end of deviantart):**_

_** browse. deviantart. ?order=5&q=iceland# /d5cffy2**_


	19. Day Ninety: Triangle

_**Yes, I am attempting a romance. Again, I'm not very skilled at writing romance, so please go easy on me. Sorry for any OOC-ness.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY: Triangle**

_Characters: Hong Kong; South Korea; Iceland; (brief) China; Norway; Denmark; (mentioned) other Asians; other Nordics_

_Pairing(s): Hong Kong/Iceland/South Korea; (implied) DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): romance/humor_

OoOoOo

Looking back, all three of them agreed that it had started with pencil erasers.

It had been about a year and a half ago at a World Conference. Hong Kong had managed to convince China to let him attend, much to the latter's frustration. However, not being an actual country – even he found this annoying and confusing – Hong Kong didn't know what to do or bring. And so, he had papers to take notes on and a pencil. China wasn't allowing him to speak, but at least he was able to go in the first place.

He'd been surprised and overwhelmed when he'd arrived. Everyone was arguing with each other, and nothing ended up getting done. After break, he'd given up trying to pay attention to the ridiculous things America was saying, and instead had taken to doodling on his paper. One of the pictures had been of a naked woman. Knowing that if China caught him drawing that, he'd be in trouble, Hong Kong went to erase the doodle. However, his pencil eraser had been all used up from his drawing – and it was probably the same pencil he used all the time while doodling at home, too.

He looked up from the paper and saw China looking at him, disapproval written all over his face. Hong Kong gulped. He knew that China was going to look at the paper afterwards to make sure there wasn't anything obscene drawn on it. Hong Kong looked away, accidentally locking eyes with the country across from him. The teen looked to be around his age in human years, with silver hair and purple eyes. Hong Kong found himself lost in those eyes – what a peculiar color. Who had purple eyes? Realizing he was staring, Hong Kong glanced back down at his paper.

He supposed he could throw it out as soon as the meeting was over, but China, being the stubborn old man he was, would check to make sure nothing inappropriate was drawn on it. China was very strict about not drawing obscene material. Hong Kong was positive that even if he shredded the paper, China would piece it back together just to make sure.

A pale hand was thrust at him. Hong Kong blinked. It took him a moment to realize that the boy across from him was handing him a pencil – complete with eraser. He looked at the boy, who raised an eyebrow slightly, as if saying, "Well, do you need it or don't you?" Hong Kong took the pencil, erased the woman from his paper. He handed the pencil back to the other country, and that was that. He drew pictures on top of where the woman had been to cover anything else, and China hadn't noticed the large span of erase marks.

At the next conference, Hong Kong made sure he had two pencils, one with an eraser. However, due to being bumped into by America, he'd dropped the pencil with the eraser during break and was unable to find it. He'd continued drawing during the meeting, until it was almost time to leave. Once again, he'd drawn a naked woman, and once again, China was waiting to look at his paper. It was annoying, how 'overprotective' China was. Hong Kong resented China for not allowing him to draw what he wanted, but as long as he lived with China, he didn't have a choice.

Once again, though, he didn't have an eraser, and he couldn't just draw over it, for China would know what he was hiding. And, once again, the country across from him handed him a pencil with an eraser.

The next two conferences, the country across from him leant him a pencil with an eraser, and Hong Kong stopped his worrying. However, at one conference, there was a new seating arrangement, and the mysterious country was not anywhere near him. He tried not to draw naked women this time, but, as he grew more and more bored, he subconsciously drew one. And now the problem arose: where to find an eraser without attracting attention to himself.

As he looked over at China – they were always seated within five seats of each other – a hand grabbed his paper. Hong Kong turned sharply. It was one of China's 'brothers'. So, technically, his brother too, but not really. But they had never talked before, and Hong Kong couldn't remember his name. He fought back a blush as he saw the other Asian's shoulders tremble in silent laughter. This took Hong Kong by surprise; he may not know the other teen well, but he knew that the other was usually very loud and immature.

The other boy handed the paper back. "You might want to erase that before aniki sees it," he whispered, a light tone to his voice.

Hong Kong blushed lightly. "Do you, like, have an eraser, then?"

The boy handed him a pencil with an eraser on it. "Better make it fast. The meeting's about to end."

Hong Kong managed to erase the picture and doodle designs over the erase marks before the meeting ended. He returned the pencil to the other boy, and that was that.

The next three conferences were like this. Instead of the white-haired teen lending Hong Kong his pencil eraser, it was the Asian with a weird curl that defied gravity. And then, the seating arrangements changed again. This time, Hong Kong sat to the right of the teen with the white hair and across from the Asian boy. It was amusing when both of them offered him their pencils when it came time to erase his drawings.

The second conference in this seating arrangement was when things changed a bit. At the break, instead of going to meet with other people for lunch, all three of them stayed behind. Thinking back, all three of them realized that none of them actually had any idea of what to say, and that they'd just had a feeling that they should stay back.

"Want to go get something to eat?" the other Asian asked, breaking the silence. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving!"

Hong Kong blinked. "That sounds good."

The white-haired teen nodded in agreement.

The three of them walked out of the building. They introduced themselves and headed to a random restaurant. In the hour they spent together, they'd learned a lot more about each other. Just from observing, Hong Kong saw that South Korea, although very hyper and attention-seeking, was not so much immature as he was lonely. Hong Kong thought of how China treated him and thought that maybe South Korea felt left out of things, too. Hong Kong also noticed that Iceland, while calm on the outside, was actually very opinionated. He saw that Iceland had the same look in his eyes as South Korea and he himself did, and wondered if Iceland ever felt left out of family affairs, as well.

They met up at the next two World Conferences. They exchanged phone numbers and soon were talking at all hours, mostly due to the time zones. Hong Kong discovered a softer side to himself, a calmer side to South Korea, and a more relaxed side to Iceland. All three were surprised and happy that they could show more than what they portrayed themselves as when around everyone else.

Over the next three months, Hong Kong noticed slight shifts in the way the three of them acted. When in each other's presences, they seemed to perk up and radiate happiness. South Korea had never 'claimed their breasts', and Hong Kong found himself jealous of this fact. Iceland only ever smiled around the two of them, and Hong Kong didn't mind talking. When he needed a pencil eraser, he took one from both Iceland and South Korea, even though he only needed one. He let his fingers brush against theirs as he took them and then returned them.

While on the phone or on Skype, they teased each other and laughed and smiled. One day in the third month, Hong Kong realized with shock that they were _flirting_ with each other. But that couldn't be right. He wasn't gay, was he? And certainly not with two completely opposite boys. Men. Whatever. Scared by this epiphany, Hong Kong had refused to answer their calls for the next two weeks.

He couldn't avoid them at the World Conference, though. This was one time he'd tried asking China to let him stay home, to which China had replied, "You wanted to come, aru, so now you come!" He'd managed to run out during break before either Iceland or South Korea could talk to him. He refused to look at them or accept their pencil erasers. After the meeting, he tried to run away, but South Korea and Iceland stopped him. They pulled him over to an empty hallway and held him. Hong Kong refused to look at either of them, instead focusing on the wall behind them.

"Why have you been avoiding us?" Iceland demanded angrily. Having not heard Iceland's voice in so long, Hong Kong found himself attracted to the accent. His mind conjured Iceland's voice saying naughty and inappropriate things to him. Hong Kong blushed and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Did we do something wrong?" South Korea sounded so hurt and innocent. Hong Kong knew it was to get him to look up, but he did so, anyway. He found his artist mind taking in every feature of the other Asian, picturing how he could draw South Korea like he drew the women.

Hong Kong gasped as he realized what he'd been thinking and closed his eyes. He struggled weakly, but he was held tightly – but not painfully – by the other two. He loved the feel of their hands on him. He imagined what those hands could do. He imagined what Iceland's hands felt like on his skin, both with gloves and without. Images of hands turned into images of bodies. He imagined what both Iceland and South Korea would look like shirtless –

"Stop it," he muttered to himself.

Iceland, thinking Hong Kong was talking to them, asked, "What did we do?"

Hong Kong's eyes shot open, revealing embarrassed tears, even as his face remained blank. "Stop talking!" he yelled at Iceland. He turned to South Korea. "And stop looking at me … like _that_!"

"Like what?" South Korea exclaimed, hurt and confusion on his face. Hong Kong closed his eyes and looked off to the side. He couldn't deal with this.

"Don't," Iceland said. Iceland gently took Hong Kong's chin in his hand and moved the Asian's face towards him. "Look at me."

Hong Kong took a shuddering breath, feeling his resolve quickly weakening. "I can't."

"Why?"

Hong Kong opened his eyes. "Because I love you." As Iceland's hand fell from his chin, Hong Kong turned his head towards South Korea. "And I love you, too." His mask disappeared as it so often did when he was around South Korea and Iceland. He lifted his hands to his face and let his tears fall. He felt ashamed and embarrassed. How could he say that? Now his only friends will hate him forever and leave him.

"What?" Iceland asked, surprised. His other hand, which had been holding Hong Kong's arm, let go.

South Korea, on the other hand, smiled widely after a moment of dumbfounded silence. He wrapped his arms around Hong Kong in a tight hug and nuzzled his nose into the other teen's neck. Hong Kong stiffened. Iceland, after a few more moments of contemplation, hugged Hong Kong from behind, placing a hesitant kiss to the back of the Asian's neck.

"What are you doing?" Hong Kong asked from behind his hands.

South Korea pouted. "Isn't it obvious?" When Hong Kong didn't answer, Iceland rolled his eyes.

"We love you, too."

Hong Kong lowered his hands from his face. The other two let go of him and shifted so the three of them stood in a triangle. South Korea and Iceland laced their fingers together. Iceland tentatively reached for Hong Kong's left hand, South Korea grabbed the right hand possessively.

"When you were ignoring us, we admitted that we had feelings for each other, and for you," Iceland explained, a light blush on his cheeks.

"But we knew that it would only work out if it was all three of us," South Korea added. "Just two of us doesn't cut it. The three of us balance each other out. If we dated without you, it wouldn't feel right."

Hong Kong blinked. "D-dating?"

Iceland raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you don't want to …"

South Korea rolled his eyes. "Of course he wants to!" He looked nervously at Hong Kong, a glint of childish innocence in his eyes. "Right?"

Hong Kong paused, before he finally nodded. South Korea let out a loud 'yes!' and pushed his lips onto Hong Kong's. The kiss was a bit rushed but full of love and care. As soon as South Korea pulled away, Iceland, a slight smirk on his face, gently pressed his lips to Hong Kong's. This kiss was gentle, patient, but with a bit of fire and passion behind it. When Iceland pulled away, South Korea pulled at him until those two were kissing.

**/break\\\**

"And that's how pencil erasers caused us to fall in love!" South Korea yelled, arms up in the air enthusiastically. Across from him, Hong Kong, and Iceland were two very distinct families, one of Asians, one of Nordics. And while most of them sweatdropped at the story, there were two very unhappy older brothers in their midst.

Very. Unhappy. Brothers.

Seeing this, South Korea yelled, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" He grabbed Hong Kong's and Iceland's hands and dragged them into a bedroom. They closed and locked the door. The two said unhappy older brothers banged on the door.

"Open up, aru!"

"I want doors open at all times!"

And along with them were people just wanting to cause trouble. We all know who that person is.

"DON'T FORGET TO USE CONDOMS!"

"Shut up, anko!"

"That's not what you said last ni-arghh!"

Meanwhile, Hong Kong, Iceland, and South Korea snuck out the window and headed to Iceland's house, where no one would think to look. And if Iceland could convince his puffin to leave for the night …

Let's just say, the unhappy older brothers were even more unhappy the next day when they finally found the three. Naked. On a bed. Together.

But that's a story for another time.

OoOoOo

_**I've only read one story where these three are in a threesome. I found it awesome and I now consider them to be one of my favorite … can't say pairings … but you get what I mean, right?**_

_**In my headcanon, the World Conference takes place once a year. However, for the purposes of this story, it takes place once a month.**_

_**Sorry for the crap ending. I didn't know how to end it, and decided to make it (hopefully) funny.**_

_**Please review!**_


	20. Day Ninety-Two: All That I Have

_**I had a dream last night where Russia made me do all his chores, and if I didn't, he'd kill me. So, basically, I was in the position of the Baltics, I guess. When I woke up, I wanted to somehow make it into a story, and along with something I'd been thinking about writing for awhile, I came up with this. I know I wouldn't be able to write a full fic (although I suppose I could try if you wanted me to), so that's why I went looking for something in the challenge I could use. And I found the perfect one (in my opinion).**_

_**I doubt any of you actually read that, so read the story!**_

_**Warning: Alternate History**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-TWO: All That I Have**

_Characters: Latvia; Russia; Lithuania; Estonia; (brief) America_

_Pairing(s): RusLat (I guess)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): suspense/drama_

OoOoOo

Latvia curled up beside Russia, both of them naked and exhausted. He rested his head against Russia's chest. Why hadn't he noticed how nice Russia was before? Why had he been so scared of him? Russia was kind and only did things to make him a better person. He loved the attention Russia gave him, ever since Lithuania and Estonia had gained independence and left. He hadn't seen them since then. 93* years.

Sometimes he missed them, but then he remembered what Russia had told him. Russia said that they didn't care about him and that they didn't want him to gain independence. They were going to invade him as soon as Russia wasn't backing him up. But Russia promised to protect him, so long as he was under the older nation's rule.

He didn't mind being controlled by Russia. Russia was a lot kinder than what the other nations said. When he'd asked Russia why he'd ever been afraid, Russia had replied that Lithuania and Estonia had tricked him into believing them. At first, Latvia had been skeptic of this, for he had still thought of the other two Baltic nations as his brothers. But the more time he spent with Russia, the more he realized just how wrong he'd been, and grew to hate Lithuania and Estonia.

Russia put an arm over Latvia's small body and pulled him closer. Latvia snuggled into the taller man. Russia traced the scars and cuts and bruises that littered Latvia's back. Latvia was proud of them. It meant that he was learning to be a good boy, not like the other nations. He deserved to be punished if he did something wrong. Every scar, every bruise, every cut showed that he was learning something new. He winced when Russia rubbed a particularly sensitive area.

"I am sorry, Латвия," Russia murmured softly. Latvia almost purred at his voice. He somehow managed to move closer to the older man. "But you know why I have to do it, да?"

Latvia nodded sleepily into Russia's chest. He looked up into the other man's eyes. "Because you have to teach me to be a good boy."

Russia nodded, his signature smile on his face. He kissed Latvia's temple. "I don't want to do it, but you have to learn what you've done wrong."

The teen closed his eyes. "Mm-hmm. I deserve it. You're making me better."

**/break\\\**

It was a few days later that Lithuania and Estonia managed to meet up. For years, they'd regretted leaving Latvia in the hands of the least mentally stable country in the world. But they hadn't had a choice. For one, their bosses hadn't let them do anything. Then there was the fact that neither of them had been powerful enough to get Latvia out. So instead, for 93 years they'd discussed how they'd get Latvia when the time came. They worked on becoming stronger. Their people, over the years, came to believe that Latvia, too, should be independent.

Finally, the time came. They were stronger and braver than they'd been while under Russia's rule. They were scared to go back to Russia's home but wanted to help Latvia more than anything. The plan was simple. Break in, sneak Latvia out, burn Russia's home. The last one they just wanted to do for a little bit of payback. But the plan should succeed. If Russia still followed the schedule he had when they were under his control, they could get in and get out without him ever knowing they were there.

They hoped.

They were prepared for Russia to declare war as soon as he discovered Latvia missing. Their people were prepared for this. Poland and his people were ready to back them up. So was America. Even if the plan didn't turn out right, they were going to do whatever it takes to get Latvia out. Who knew what Russia was doing to him?

The first part of the plan was easy. Russia hadn't changed his locks, and Estonia managed to get them inside the house. They snuck in and closed the door quietly behind them. They made their way up the stairs and to where they knew Latvia's room was. They opened the door gently. The room was dark, but they could see the tuft of blonde hair on the bed.

Lithuania hurried over to the bed while Estonia stood by the door. Lithuania shook Latvia awake. As soon as Latvia opened his eyes, he screamed. Lithuania, figuring the boy hadn't woken up yet, placed a hand on the teen's mouth, shushing him.

"Latvia! Latvia, it's me! It's Toris!" he whispered urgently. Latvia knocked Lithuania's hand away and tried to run away. Worried by the boy's behavior, Lithuania held onto Latvia's shoulders. Latvia started crying.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Latvia yelled. Estonia went over to the two. Latvia jerked back. "Russia! RUSS –"

Estonia covered Latvia's mouth. "Are you crazy? We're trying to help you!"

"It seems like little Латвия doesn't want your help."

Lithuania and Estonia froze in terror. Latvia took the chance to break from their grip and run to Russia, who stood menacingly in the doorway. Russia flicked the lights on as Latvia hugged him, giving Lithuania and Estonia a clear view of the teen's back, for he wasn't wearing a shirt. Estonia's eyes narrowed. Lithuania gasped.

"Latvia …"

"I think you should leave," Russia said. He wrapped an arm around Latvia, pulling him gently so the boy was beside him. Latvia clung to Russia.

"Latvia, we're getting you out of here," Estonia stated, locking his gaze with Russia's. Latvia winced and half-hid behind Russia.

"I-I don't want to," he said. "L-leave me alone!"

"You can't tell me you _want_ to stay here?" Lithuania asked, incredulous. Latvia nodded fearfully.

"You're just saying that because you're scared," Estonia spoke, turning his gaze to Latvia. "We're stronger now, we aren't going to let Russia hurt you anymore."

"I-I want t-to stay," Latvia cried. "D-don't make me l-leave!"

Lithuania took a step closer. "He's been hurting you! You have scars on your back, and bruises all over your body!"

"I deserve it!" Latvia yelled. Lithuania froze. Estonia's heart skipped a beat. Quieter, Latvia added, "He-he's making me a good boy. He's helping me."

Estonia took three steps forward angrily. Latvia shrunk back. Russia watched on in amusement. "It's abuse, Latvia! He isn't helping you, whatever he may have tricked you to believe!"

"He-he wouldn't lie to me!" Latvia cried, his face wet and shiny with tears. "He loves me! He told me! He-he told me everything you two are planning! A-and it w-won't work!"

Estonia was shocked into silence. Lithuania took another cautious step forward. He said quietly, carefully, "What has he told you, Raivis?" Another step.

Latvia narrowed his eyes. "H-how you're planning to invade me a-as soon as I'm independent! R-Russia's protecting me! Th-that means he means it when he s-says he l-loves me!"

"Latvia, you know us better than that!" Lithuania complained. He felt tears threaten to fall. How could Russia do this? How could Russia turn the boy he thought of as a brother against him and Estonia?

Estonia thought along the same lines. He snapped angrily to Russia, "What have you done to him?"

Russia smiled. "I have only told him the truth." He petted Latvia's hair. Latvia leaned into his touch, beginning to calm down. Lithuania and Estonia steamed at the action.

"Little Латвия knows I love him," Russia continued, now looking down at said teen. "And he knows how sad I will be if he leaves." Latvia looked up at him, a slight smile on his face. Seeing the angry faces of the other two Baltics, Russia leaned down and caught Latvia's lips with his own. Estonia and Lithuania froze in horror and disgust, which only amplified when Latvia kissed back.

Russia wiped away Latvia's tears with his fingers. Latvia stepped closer to him – too close to just be friendly – and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. Russia's hands lowered to Latvia's shoulders, then his back, then one hand dropped lower to grip Latvia's butt –

"Stop it, you sick monster!" Estonia yelled. "How could you do that to Latvia? He's _fifteen_!"

"Latviaaaa!" Lithuania cried when said boy didn't push Russia away. Latvia moved closer so that his and Russia's chests were touching. And – did that kiss _have tongue_?

Russia broke the kiss. Latvia, blushing and panting, whined in protest. Russia chuckled and traced Latvia's cheek with a finger.

"Stop it!" Estonia yelled again.

Russia looked to the two older Baltics. "Does it anger you to see Latvia happy with me?" Estonia glared. Lithuania clenched his fists. "I guess I shouldn't tell you then how good he tastes. Or how tight he is. Or how beautiful his face is when he's riding me."

Lithuania felt nauseous. "That's disgusting!" He looked at Latvia. "Raivis, what he's doing is wrong. You definitely need to leave with us now."

Latvia shook his head. "I love him. I-I'm not leaving him!" He turned desperately to Russia. "D-don't make me leave! P-please!"

Seeing Latvia _begging_ Russia in the first place sent Lithuania over the edge. How dare Russia brainwash the teen! How dare he! Lithuania, without thinking, punched Russia in the face. As he'd grown stronger over the years, Russia was sent crashing to the floor.

Estonia grabbed Latvia, kicking and screaming, away from Russia. Lithuania followed. Russia was very clearly 'kolling'. Latvia screamed and cried.

"Please! Don't make me leave! I love him! He's all that I have!"

Hearts breaking, Estonia and Lithuania did their best to ignore Latvia. As soon as they made it outside, their 'back-up' – aka, a certain someone who wanted a fight – popped out of the bushes with a shotgun pointed at the Russian behind them.

"Stop right there, commie!" America shouted. "Don't worry, Latvia! I'll save ya! 'Cuz I'm the hero!"

Latvia was pushed into the Baltics' car. Lithuania stayed in the back to hold Latvia down as Estonia drove. They heard a few gunshots from Russia's house. Latvia, giving up, cried silently, sitting as far away from Lithuania as possible.

_I'll get back to you,_ Latvia thought, looking out the window. _Nothing can keep us apart._

OoOoOo

_**Again, the ending was lame. But I didn't know where to end it.**_

_**I realized when I decided to write this that I've never read a story where Latvia had Stockholm Syndrome. I think it's more likely than other Stockholm Syndrome scenarios I've read. Who's with me?**_

_*** = This is an Alternate History fic, so I chose for Estonia and Lithuania to be recognized as independent in 1919. I believe (irl) Lithuania was recognized in 1918, and Estonia 1920. I think the Soviet Union forced them to go back during WWII, but I'm pretending that because Russia still has Latvia, he's content with that. **_

**Латвия = **_**Latvia (Russian)**_

**Да = **_**yes (Russian)**_

_**School starts tomorrow, so my updates will get few and far between, as I will have too much work and too much laziness and headaches to write. However, I have 2 study halls this semester, so I might write if I have the time.**_


	21. Day Ninety-Nine: Solitude

_**I got bored. And I somehow had time to write this. Sorry for the crappy quality. School started today and I'm already stressed out (my guidance counselor left for another school, so now I'm stuck on what to do to get into college – the new guidance counselor used to be a math teacher and has no clue what she's doing). Rant over. Read the shortness-of-shortiness! (I'm tired. Can you tell?)**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-NINE: Solitude**

_Characters: Iceland; (mentioned) Norway, other Nordics, England_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

He spent a lot of time by himself. He knew this. He enjoyed it. He didn't have to get involved in stupid arguments with the other countries. Usually. (Sure, there were the Cod Wars, and the World Wars, but besides those – and a few other little things – he was generally alone.)

Growing up, he'd spent most of his time in solitude. Well, until his brother had gotten overprotective and taken control of him. More than before. And then later, the whole thing with Denmark and the Kalmar Union – but those times weren't important. The important this was that he was perfectly fine being alone.

No arguments.

No friendships, either, although the other Nordics usually backed him up in an emergency. Usually. (Where were they when he needed them in World War I? He supposed it was his own fault, for being so isolated. He'd been too proud to ask for help. They probably just hadn't noticed his involvement. Then why did it still hurt that they never helped him?)

He was independent. (No European Union, which was falling anyway. But then, there was that recession awhile back – he'd had to resort to borrowing money from Russia, of all nations. Where had the Nordics been when he'd needed them? Not even Norway, rich as he was, offered any help. Not that he cared.)

He supposed there were downsides. Such as, missing out on a lot of the other Nordics' lives. (He remembered a time when they were family. He missed those days. Sometimes he wished they would return. But then he'd have to leave his safety. His comfort zone of being completely on his own, completely isolated from everyone else.)

He missed out a lot of what happened with Norway. (Norway _was_ his brother, after all, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Sometimes he just wanted to spend time with his brother, but due to his natural introspective nature, he never dared go up to the blonde. Not that it mattered in the end, anyway. He would end up alone again. Norway wasn't near his island, after all.)

It was difficult to find allies. (The Nordics, again, usually backed him up. Not always. But he was an island, and England didn't like him – as if he cared. He was a little aloof, so he assumed this was another reason no one wanted to help him.)

So, yes, he spent a lot of time in solitude, and he was perfectly fine with that. He knew he should talk to the other countries more, but if he was going to return to his normal loner state anyway, what was the point? Or worse, he'd gain unwanted attention to himself, maybe someone would see potential in something and try to take control of him. He refused to allow himself to fall.

Some people may call him paranoid, but he's just fine the way he is, so what does it matter?

The life lesson he'd learned the hard way: Only trust yourself.

And thus he remained alone.

OoOoOo

_**I had a fight with my internet connection to get this posted. I think it was trying to tell me it's time for me to sleep.**_


	22. Day Forty-Six: Family

_**I haven't had too much homework yet. But then again, it's only day two. I have two study halls this semester, so I'll try to do my homework then so I have time to write.**_

_**I got lazy at the end, just a warning.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-SIX: Family**

_Characters: Iceland; Hong Kong; (mentioned) Asians, Nordics_

_Pairing(s): Hong Kong/Iceland_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst/romance_

OoOoOo

Iceland lied on his bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The moon shown in through the window. He'd just found out that the other four Nordics had met up and gone for dinner several hours ago – without him. Now, he may seem like didn't care, but they were still his family. He sighed. He wasn't good enough for them, obviously.

It wasn't fair. They often left him out of things he could consider 'family time'. Movies. Restaurants. Heck, even going to a bar or something. He was either not invited, uninvited at the last minute, or brushed off as 'too young'. Or they said what they were doing was 'boring'. He scoffed. He wasn't a child. He knew that he was nothing but extra baggage to them.

Unfortunately, he didn't have anything else to do. Sure, he sometimes went on hikes around his island. Or did some kind of Icelandic adrenaline-rush activity (read: cliff-jumping). But it wasn't as fun to do by himself, after so many years of doing so before. He wanted someone to show the places to, someone to hang out with. His family, as he'd pointed out before, didn't include him in their activities. And most countries (read: all) wanted nothing to do with him.

Except Hong Kong. But technically, he wasn't a country. Iceland smiled gently. He and Hong Kong had hit it off really well when they'd accidentally bumped into each other a few months back. A couple months ago, Hong Kong had asked him out, and they had been together ever since.

Well, not literally. They were in a relationship. But Hong Kong was on the other side of the world. It was rare when they could go on dates. When they could kiss. When they could hold each other. Iceland looked over to the side. He missed Hong Kong.

He suddenly found himself thinking of his family again. He sat up and brought over his laptop. He typed what family should mean:

**F** - Friends from the start

**A** - Always there

**M** - Making things better

**I **-

**L** - Loves unconditionally

**Y** - Yours forever

He sniffed to keep back tears. He couldn't think of anything for the 'I'. How ironic. 'I' was the first letter of his name. The poor 'I' in the poem was left out of the fun. Just like him.

**/Hong Kong\\\**

Left alone. Again.

This was, like, unfair. Hong Kong watched as China left the house to spend time with his family. _Their_ family. To an event he hadn't even been invited to. Again. Seriously, what was their problem? Was he not good enough for them or something? Because he wasn't about to change who he was.

Hong Kong stormed to his room. It was dumb that they wouldn't let him hang out with them. And they wouldn't even give him a reason. His best guess was that he wasn't technically a country. He crossed his arms. That was, like, a huge low blow. Especially to his own personal self-esteem.

If only Iceland was here. He'd, like, comfort him and stuff. But that was the problem with long-distance relationships. No cuddling. No hugging. No kissing. And certainly not … other things. He could deal with that. It was, like, the huge time zone difference that frustrated him. If one was awake, the other was asleep. And they couldn't always take turns staying up to talk.

He turned to his computer and sat down. Maybe he could find something to do to feel better. Beside the screen was a photo of him and his family. He scowled. What family? Inspired, he began to write what a family should be like:

**F**orever there

**A**midst the chaos,

**M**istakes are forgiven

**I**nstead of not

**L**

**Y**ou're not alone

He'd run out of ideas for the 'L' so decided to leave it blank. He grinned wryly at the irony. His human name started with 'L'. Oh, how true it was, that both the 'L' and he were alone, forgotten by everyone else.

Until his Facebook chat dinged.

**/Iceland\\\**

After writing the poem, he'd gone onto Facebook to see any dumb photos Denmark may have posted. He'd been surprised when he'd seen that Hong Kong was online – until he checked the time. In his own little world, he'd forgotten that it was nighttime.

He smiled. Hong Kong could always make him feel better. He sent a poem over the chat:

**H** - Handsome

**O** - Original

**N** - Nurturing

**G** - Gentle

**K** – Kind-hearted

**O** - Outstanding

**N** - Nifty

**G** - Gorgeous

A few minutes later, he received a reply, also in poetry format:

**I**nside, my heart trembles, despite my

**C**ool gaze;

**E**verything is surreal as

**L**ong as you're

**A**round.

**N**ever shall I leave you before the

**D**ay I die.

For a few minutes, neither of them typed anything. Both felt relieved that someone understood them, that they each had someone to rely on. Iceland sent a poem in reply to Hong Kong's, this time forming a message instead of random words:

**F**orget

**A**bout

**M**e

**I**

**L**ove

**Y**ou

Hong Kong smiled and blushed lightly. He typed:

**L**oving me without reason

**O**ver and over again

**V**arious told and untold legends

**E**very time I hear, I get rejoiced

OoOoOo

_**The last two poems are not mine. I got them both off of random websites. The other poems are mine. And boy, were they ever hard to write. (Hence the reason why I got lazy with the last two poems.)**_

_**Review!**_


	23. Day Eighty-Two: Can You Hear Me?

_**I missed yesterday's! I'm sorry! And this is a 3-part poem (written by 3 different characters), so you guys don't even get a story. *sad face***_

_**Just letting you know, there is a method to the seemingly-messy style I wrote in. Hint: look at anything and everything. Yeah, that doesn't help much, but … Hint number two: there are three hidden messages in these poems. See if you can find them all!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-TWO: Can You Hear Me?**

_Characters: read the poems carefully and you'll find out! *hint number three*_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst/poetry_

OoOoOo

**1**

probably you don't notice. it's not

li_k_e you Care. anything i say g_o_es in one

eAr

aNd out the othe_r_. i never expected anYthing oth_e_rwise.

sometimes, i wish you would hold me,

except i _a_lready know you won't.

**2**

_h_ow is it that yOu never cared? i really sh_o_Uldn't

eve_n_ be surprised. i'm good at

lyin_g_, you see. and it was, li_k_e, always a given that it wasn't ever

p_o_ssible that, Here, i_n_ this world, i would ever freakin_g_ matter in the first place. i never havE.

**3**

mAybe _i_ should have neveR gotten my hopes up. be_c_ause

ev_e_ry time, you send Me, a_l_ways, cr_a_shing a_n_d burning, _d_own. Every. time.

OoOoOo

_**Think you got the answers? Put what you think the hidden messages are in a review and I'll write the answers next chapter (if you want).**_


	24. Day Seventy-Six: Broken Pieces

_**I just reread a story where Russia convinces Korea to become communist **_('Gunpowder and Promises')_**. I started thinking of how China would react (as the end of the oneshot was a cliffhanger) and decided to write this. So, I do not own this idea, it belongs to **_Lalalalala-Land_**.**_

_**This is an Alternate History story, somewhat, so things aren't going to match up with implied events and stuff. Also, this is one of those stories that I don't say the word(s) in the story; I just took inspiration from them.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SEVENTY-SIX: Broken Pieces**

_Characters: Russia; China; Korea; (mentioned) Vietnam_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

Russia chuckled. Across from him stood China, who glared at him viciously. Russia knew that China would come to see how great communism was, but it would take time. China hated communism with a passion and made it obvious to everyone – especially his northern neighbor – that he wasn't going to stay that way if he could help it. But the dominos had already begun to fall. Russia was quickly gaining more power: more countries were added to the Soviet Union, part of Vietnam, China, and so many others. And let's not forget the latest …

"What do you want, aru?" China spat, arms crossed. "I will not listen to you, regardless of the fact that I'm communist now."

Russia only smiled. "I just thought to let you know that I've convinced someone else to become communist."

More often than not, Russia had to force another country to become communist. But the newest addition had listened to him voluntarily. This would cause horror grow among the Asian nations, he was sure. He couldn't wait to see the look on China's face when he told him how his youngest brother had been persuaded …

China's heart pumped faster, although his expression didn't change. He didn't like the look Russia was giving him. It was the same look he'd had when he'd told China how part of Vietnam had turned to communism. China had never found out if it was willing or if it was forced, and he hadn't seen Vietnam since her change in government. Who else had Russia corrupted?

China's breathing picked up at Russia's oh-so-innocent face. "What have you done, aru?" he snapped. Russia giggled.

"Why don't you see for yourself?"

Out from the shadows came another figure. An Asian teen with a piece of hair that defied gravity. China's glare faded into horror. His arms fell to his sides. His heart skipped a beat and his gut wrenched painfully.

"No …" he whispered. Anyone but his youngest brother. Anyone else. Please, no, not him, please, please, no. China took in how different and hollow his brother appeared. His eyes were dark, dead, but there was a glint of hatred and … insanity … behind them. His usually smiling, cheerful face was straight, hard, cold. He showed no recognition towards China.

"Korea," China murmured, voice breaking. He raised a hand to Korea's face; Korea backed away before it could touch him. China's hand stayed in the air for a moment before falling back to his side.

Tears pushed at his eyes. Of all the countries, of all his brothers, why Korea? He was the most innocent, the youngest, the sweetest … And now look at what communism has done to him … But even he hadn't changed that much … Russia … Russia was behind all of this. Russia had hurt his brother, had corrupted him, brainwashed him, tricked him, _some_thing!

His glare returned. He stared at Russia coldly. "What have you done to him, aru?" he shouted, hands forming into fists.

Russia chuckled. "I have done nothing, comrade. I went to him in his time of need, and he asked me to help him. So I did." China glared harder, if that was even possible. "I assure you, comrade, that he was willing – _is_ willing."

China shook his head frantically. "No! Not Yong Soo! He would never want communism in his lands!"

"But I do." China's glare switched back to his horrified look as Korea spoke. He looked into Korea's eyes, hoping to find some trace of the old Korea, but found none.

"You don't mean that," China said, trying to keep calm and failing miserably.

"I want revenge," Korea said flatly. China winced at how dull and not-Korea-like he sounded. "Especially against Japan. He hurt me. He hurt _you_. So many people have hurt me. I'm done waiting around for others to help. I'm taking matters into my own hands. Communism will help me with that."

China gripped Korea's shoulders. Korea tried to get away, but China refused to let go. "No, you don't understand what you're saying, aru. This isn't who you are, Yong Soo!"

Korea's expression didn't change. "It is now."

But there had been a brief spark of the old Korea, deep in his eyes. China had seen it. Korea wasn't completely lost. China hugged Korea tightly, crying into his brother's shoulder. Korea didn't react.

"Please, Yong Soo, come back. Please."

Russia chuckled. He pulled China away from Korea. He put an arm around Korea's shoulder protectively. "Your brother is gone, comrade. I suggest you be like him and accept your fate." The two turned and began walking away.

China sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He wasn't going to give up. His brother wasn't gone. His brother was still in there. He wouldn't allow this … new Korea stay in control. He wouldn't. He was going to get his brother back.

Somehow.


	25. Day Eighty-Five: Spiral

_**As anyone who follows my Iceland stories knows, I love to torture Iceland. And Norway. But mostly Iceland. Even I don't know why. I was running out of ideas of how to torture Iceland (if you have any, review your ideas or PM me), but luckily, my history teacher brought up something I'd forgotten about. And this happened!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-FIVE: Spiral**

_Characters: Iceland; Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): drama/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

_**6 months ago**_

It had been a stupid idea. A stupid, ridiculous, horrible idea. But he'd gotten curious. And we all know what happens when teenagers get curious. Shit happens. Well, it isn't just teenagers. Shit happens to everyone. It just so happens that Iceland was stuck in the body of a teenaged boy. And kind of, sort of, not really in the mindset of a teenaged boy.

Not like that, you perverts.

Everyone wants to try it. Don't lie, even you do. It was only natural for Iceland, a perfectly mature nation (in his opinion) to check out the casinos. He wouldn't stay for long. He just wanted to see what the big deal was.

He'd gotten there, and immediately someone had offered him a drink. He'd taken it – it wasn't like Norway was ever going to find out – and drank it quickly. He'd gone over to a slot machine – because, why not? – and started playing. He barely even noticed when more and more drinks were offered to him. He definitely noticed the pretty flashing lights, the sounds of all the machines mashing together, the spinning numbers, shapes, whatever they were – he couldn't even tell anymore – and soon enough, he was out of money.

He'd gone home. Simple enough. He'd woken with a bad hangover the next day – how'd he even get home safely? – and, realizing his wallet was empty, promised himself to never do that again.

_**5 months ago**_

It had been a long, long month since the last time he'd gone to the casino. And, deciding it was suddenly a day to celebrate, he collected a wad of cash and headed to the games. This time, he tried his luck with some card game. He'd won a bit and, while horribly intoxicated, had decided he needed a bit of stress relief from being a nation. That's what the pretty girls were there for, anyway, right? The rest of the night faded away into moans and pleasurable touches.

He tried to stay away again, but the memories had plagued him – the fun, the excitement, the adrenaline, the sex afterwards – and so he went back. Six days after the first.

He decided he'd go once a week. It was reasonable, right?

_**4 months ago**_

He'd started going to the casino four nights a week. But it was fine, because he had the money, and he always won something. Except this time, he'd bet too high – he lost all of his money. But the night was still young! He wanted more drinks, more adrenaline, more women – so he bet his phone. His computer. His car. The only thing he didn't bet was his house.

He ended up losing all of that. He'd gone home, dejected, feeling as though something had been torn from him. And then he'd gotten an idea.

Borrowing money from his treasurer wouldn't hurt, would it? After all, it was, technically, his. Even if he didn't really have much say in where the money went. He'd pay it back, anyway.

The first couple of weeks – now going to the casino six nights a week – he'd taken a bit of money from the treasurer, and then paid it back gradually. It had worked perfectly. And no one knew the wiser.

_**3 months ago**_

But it quickly became difficult for Iceland to pay back the money. He was now going to the casino every night, betting everything he had, everything he owned – except his house. He took thousands of dollars from his treasurer, thousands of dollars that were quickly being noticed by the rest of his government.

He couldn't stop. He _wouldn't_ stop. It's his island, his people, he should have control over the money. It's perfectly fine that he's quickly making things worse for his people. He'll fix it. Eventually.

Just as soon as he wins back his money.

_**2 months ago**_

He'd been caught.

His government, his people, knew that he'd been stealing money. They knew. And they'd arrested him. He was ashamed and embarrassed. How could he let himself get this far? But he couldn't stop. Why couldn't they understand that? He just wanted some fun.

Norway was the one who helped him. Norway had convinced Iceland's people to let him go. Iceland guessed it had something to do with the fact that they're both nations. It shouldn't matter, but it did. Iceland was glad it did.

Of course, he had to deal with Norway, now. Their first conversation went something like this:

"You need help."

"I know what I'm doing! I can fix this. I can."

"I'll help you."

"I don't need your help!"

"Your entire life is headed in a downward spiral."

"I have eternity to make up for this."

He wasn't going to stop.

_**1 month ago**_

Norway now stayed with him. Some nights, he caught Iceland. But other nights, Iceland managed to sneak out. He enjoyed that just as much as gambling. He got a rush from sneaking out. So he did it more. Gambled more.

Drank more.

So much more, in fact, that he accidentally killed someone while intoxicated. On the road. Multiple someones. All the adrenaline …

He still wasn't going to stop. He was a nation. He could get away with this. He knew he could.

_**Now**_

And now, it has come to this.

Iceland has bet everything, and lost everything, from his puffin to his house. Norway had tried to help him. It didn't work.

Iceland choked back tears. The only reason he's not in jail is because he's a nation.

He wondered if he even deserved to be a nation in the first place.

_He took a gun from his pocket._

He couldn't live, knowing that he'd lost everything.

_He put the gun to his head._

There wasn't any use in trying to fix anything. He had ruined everything. His life. His people's lives. His island. His relationship with his brother. It wasn't worth it.

_He pulled the trigger._


	26. Day Sixty-One: Fairy Tale

_**Yeah, school is tough and I'm super stressed out. But I'm still going to try to post at least once (maybe twice) a week. I already know what to write for a few of them. The basis for this one was suggested by **_nightshadow23_**.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY-ONE: Fairy Tale**

_Characters: Iceland; Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

Iceland had learned a long time ago that life wasn't a fairy tale. When a woman was in danger, a handsome prince didn't come to save her. A prince didn't fall in love with a poor girl or some other damsel in distress.

In real life, people didn't care. The rich ones didn't look twice at the poor ones. Love didn't work that way. Especially for Iceland. Because he didn't even like girls. No. Iceland was gay. And he was scared of this.

In the past, it had been worse, he supposed. People were killed for being gay. At least now, people – in general – were more accepting. He was still scared, but he was tired of hiding. Especially from the people he considered his family.

He held his phone in his hand and, with trembling fingers, dialed Norway's number. The only thing he told his brother was to come over to his house. Then he hung up. For the next couple of hours, he paced the length of his living room, sat down for ten seconds, only to jump up and continue pacing. He ran a hand through his messy hair. His heart jumped to his throat when the doorbell rang.

He licked his lips, adjusted the hem of his shirt nervously, and let his brother in. They sat across from each other, him on the couch, Norway on the chair nearby. Norway watched worriedly as Iceland watched his fingers twisting his shirt. Norway knew that Iceland would tell him in his own time, so stayed quiet.

Finally, finally, Iceland took a deep breath. His hands clenched his pants legs nervously. He refused to look up at his brother. What if Norway hated him? What if he disowned him, hit him, yelled at him, or, hell, even killed him? What if he spread it around to the other countries? He'd be killed for sure!

But he had to say it. He'd said it out loud to himself in front of a mirror, and just by doing that, he'd gained confidence in himself. But the pressure and fear would never completely disappear until he'd told someone. And that someone had to be Norway. It couldn't be anyone else.

He breathed deeply a few times before opening his mouth. He whispered shakily, "I-I …" he cleared his throat, licked his lips, tried to calm his racing heart, which felt as though it was about to burst out of his chest. "I …" Come on, just say it! Two little words! "I'm … I-I'm g-gay …"

Even without knowing Norway's reaction, Iceland already felt some relief from saying it, from telling someone else. But what was going to happen? Iceland prepared himself for a lecture, on how it was a sin or how it was disgusting …

"Okay…?"

Iceland was surprised that Norway was just so … so _calm_ about this! Where were the lectures? The beatings? The disowning? Where? He looked up at Norway – surely he needed a minute to process what had just been said, and then the words would come.

Instead, Norway had an eyebrow raised at him, as if saying, _What? You think I care?_ But his eyes showed guilt – for not knowing … sadness – that his younger brother couldn't come to him … relief – that his brother wasn't hurt or in danger …

"O-okay?" Iceland stammered. How could it be okay? How could Norway be _okay_ about this?

Norway shrugged. "You're gay. So what?"

Hearing those words that he so desperately needed to hear, Iceland broke down. He cried into his hands, thankful that someone cared, that he wasn't going to be yelled at – or worse. Someone was on his side.

Norway got up and sat next to Iceland. He awkwardly hugged Iceland – they were never a very touchy-feely family – but Iceland leaned into him anyway. "You're still my brother," Norway told him, holding him. "Nothing is going to change that."

OoOoOo

_**Psh … The entire time while writing this, I had 'Fairytale' (Norway's Eurovision song, 2009) stuck in my head. Dunno if it fits or not, but that song is good.**_

_**Review!**_


	27. Day Fifty-Four: Tower

_**This is my 9/11 tribute. Sorry for any inaccuracies and OOC-ness. **_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-FOUR: Tower**

_Characters: America; (brief) FACE family_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/family_

OoOoOo

America screamed and cried, echoing the pain his people felt. Or perhaps it was the other way around. He didn't care. All he knew was that people were dying. _His_ people. Why? Why him? Why his people? What had they done? If another country had a problem with him, it should be taken out on him, not his people, goddammit!

He sank to his knees, clawing desperately at his chest. Make it stop, make the pain go away! Leave his people alone! Blood – on his chest, on his fingers – joined his tears on the floor. His people – his people needed him, and he couldn't do a damned thing! An animalistic cry erupted from his vocal chords,

The towers – the towers were falling! No, please, no! America screamed, his throat raw. Dead. Dead. So many people dead. Fathers. Brothers. Wives. Mothers. Family members. Oh, God … Normal, everyday people, who should never have to experience such horror, were dying. In their own home. Their own territory. In _him_.

And the Pentagon, too! No, no, please! Stop this madness! What did they ever do to you! Hurt me, kill me, but leave them alone. America took his gun from his jacket.* In a haze of pain and panic, he switched off the safety and pointed the gun at his temple. Maybe if he was dead, whoever was attacking would stop hurting his people. In his blood loss-filled mind, it made perfect sense.

Th-there was another crash! His people had crashed a hijacked plane in Pennsylvania. Heroes, America thought distantly. Those people are heroes. Something I can't be. Something I'm not.

Blood poured out of his body. He was amazed at how much blood a single body had. He imagined how much blood had been shed from the deaths, from the crashes. He struggled to keep the gun steady. He choked back a sob. No more of his people would die. He refused to allow it. He closed his eyes.

The gun was stolen from him with such ferocity that he was knocked onto his back. He was aware of hands on him, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to comfort him. And then he realized there was talking. His eyes blinked open slowly. Trying to stop the bleeding were England and France. Holding his hand and speaking softly was Canada.

For a moment, he allowed himself to calm, not really hearing anything that was said. And then he remembered – he had to die, to prevent any more deaths of his people. He struggled to sit up, a weak whine of protest sounding from his throat. England pushed him back down gently. Tears cascaded down America's cheeks. He needed to do the right thing, for once in his life.

"Calm down, lad," England said. "You're okay. You'll be okay. It'll be over soon."

America sobbed. He coughed a couple of times before managing to stammer, "I-I need to … my people … I-I need to –"

France let England take over stopping the bleeding and instead focused on soothing America. America leaned into the man's touch as France brushed his hand through his hair. "Calm down, Amérique. We're here. We're here."

America whined in frustration. "Let me … let me – my people!" His eyes found the gun lying on the other side of England. He reached uselessly for it. England shoved the gun away, regardless of the fact that there was no way America could reach it. Canada choked back a sob.

"Don't, Alfred," he said. "Your people need you."

America lied on the floor of his house, surrounded by his family. He closed his eyes, saw every face of every person who had died, who were dying, the families of those people … He furrowed his brow weakly. Whoever did this will pay. He won't give into his selfish desires again. He'll turn his frustrations on whoever dared mess with him, with his people.

He's the United States of America.

Land of the free.

Home of the brave.

He won't let this tear him down. Never again will this happen. Never.

OoOoOo

_*** = Americans have the right to bear arms. I suspect that America himself would keep one on his person.**_


	28. Day Fourteen: Smile

_**I was sick over the weekend, but luckily for you, dear readers, I had study hall first thing this morning, where I never have anything to do!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FOURTEEN: Smile**

_Characters: mystery main character (try and figure it out!); China; two others (guess who!)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): horror/suspense_

OoOoOo

Hey! Hey, China-hyung! What's the matter? Why are you crying?

Huh? What are you talking about?

Why are you looking at me like that, hyung?

Oh, this? It's just a bit of blood.

Don't worry, hyung! It's not mine!

Why do you care about _them_? You're talking to _me_, hyung.

Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I just want to –

How rude, hyung! You know better than to interrupt someone~

You can't run, hyung. All the exits are locked.

Hmm? Oh. You found them, then? Poor them …

I just wanted them to smile, hyung. They never smiled, you see. But they just wouldn't listen …

Insane? Dear hyung, you know me better than that~ … _Don't you, hyung?_

STOP RUNNING, HYUNG! You're only postponing the inevitable~

Oh, see? See? Now I've caught you, hyung!

Don't worry, hyung! It only hurts for a little bit, and then it'll all go away~

Why? Why what, hyung? You need to be more specific!

I don't think it's fair that I'm the only one smiling all the time. You should smile, too, hyung. You look _so much nicer_.

Hmm … red really _is_ your color, hyung. I'll cover you in it. Maybe you'll smile, then?

Haha, you look so pretty, hyung! Why aren't you smiling?

Oops, I cut too deep!

There! Now you can smile forever and ever, hyung! Aren't you so much happier now!

… Hyung?


	29. Day Twenty-Eight: Sorrow

_**This is a companion!piece to 'Smile'.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Sorrow**

_Characters: China; South Korea; (mentioned) Hong Kong; Japan_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): horror/tragedy_

OoOoOo

Please … Tell me you didn't do it.

You …

Your face … It's …

Blood!

What about … What about Hong Kong and Japan, aru! Is it theirs?

Korea! What's wrong?

What have you done, aru! Tell me, aru!

Korea … No, you couldn't have …

Hong Kong … Japan … NO! Yong Soo, What have you done?

Why … Why did you cut their faces? Why did you hurt them?

You're insane! My brother would never do this, aru!

Yong Soo, don't! Stop it, aru! Come to your senses!

Get away from me, aru!

S-stop, aru … Let me go, aru!

… Why, aru?

Why have you done this? Why … Why are you this … monster, aru?

Agh! Korea, stop, aru! Why do you – agh!

As long as you … have done this … sorrow will for … ever mark my … being …

I … will not give … you … the satis … fac … tion … AGH!

N-no! Sto … op, ar … ru!

…


	30. Day Four: Dark

_**This is a sort-of-but-not-really companion!piece to 'Dying'. I **_**do**_** have a better companion!piece to go with 'Dying'. I also have oneshots to write off of 'Blood' and 'Fairy Tale'. But I want those to be good, and as you can probably tell, I've been lazy the past few chapters.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FOUR: Dark**

_Characters: South Korea; Iceland; (mentioned) China, Hong Kong, Japan_

_Pairing(s): none (or, I suppose a teeny, tiny, barely-there KorIce…)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

He's not okay.

He's not okay.

_I'm not okay._

And he's just _done _with everything, with every_one_.

So he climbs the stairs of the building. No one sees him leave.

_How can they not notice?_

No one had ever cared. This only proved it.

_Why don't they notice?_

He's on the roof now. It's windy. He feels as if he can fly. So he ignores his tears and stumbles over to the edge.

_Notice me. Notice this. Why don't you _see_ me?_

He steps up. He looks down.

It's a long way down.

He sniffs. Sobs.

_Still no one._

But it's okay. It's going to be okay.

His cell phone rings. Startles him. He almost jumps prematurely.

He takes his phone. Looks at the caller ID. China. He presses the ignore button.

_Too late, hyung._

His phone rings again. Japan. He ignores it.

_Too late, hyung._

His phone rings. Hong Kong. He throws the phone over the edge of the roof. He can't see it fall. It's too dark.

_Too late, hyung._

Breathe in. Breathe out.

_Too late._

Breathe in. Breathe out.

_Too late, too late, too late._

He leans forward.

Arms grab him.

Force him back onto the roof.

He lies there in shock.

He sees Iceland.

_But why? It's too late. You had your chance._

Iceland sits there.

_Don't do it, Korea._

He doesn't care. Doesn't understand.

_Leave me alone. Just let me die. Let me…please…_

Iceland hugs him. He's too calm. Way too calm.

_I've been where you are. It doesn't work. Someone will always stop you._

He sobs into Iceland's shirt.

_No one cares. No one notices._

Iceland looks him in the eye.

_That's what I thought, too. I thought life was pointless. But my brother helped me see the beauty of life…Let me show it to you, too._

He's noticed.

For once, he's truly happy.

Maybe it's not too late.


	31. Day Sixty-Four: Multitasking

_**This is a companion!piece to 'Innocence'. I suggest you read that one first, although I suppose you don't have to in order to understand this.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY-FOUR: Multitasking**

_Characters: Italy; Romano; (mentioned) Spain_

_Pairing(s): Spamano; I guess Itacest_

_Rated: __**M (please note the rating)**_

_Genre(s): drama/crime_

OoOoOo

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since last time. He smiled his silly smile, kicked his legs, screamed in an annoying voice – but inside, he was chuckling darkly, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if Romano knew what was coming – or perhaps he had forgotten the date? He let it slide from his mind for now. It would only be a matter of time.

After the meeting, he saw his chance, and took it. Spain was talking to Romano – _his_ Romano – and calling him cute, silly, his 'little tomato'. Romano blushed and swore. The younger brother knew just how much the teasing bothered him. And so he cut in, wrapping his arms around Romano's shoulders and forcing tears out of his eyes. He felt Romano stiffen the slightest bit under his touch, frozen, but only so he would notice. He held back the great grin threatening to break his façade, and instead focused on his plan.

"Fratelllloooo!" he whined. "Germany won't let me sleep with him tonight! And you know I need someone to sleep with! It's just so scary at night, with the noises and the dark and the –"

"Alright, already!" Romano pushed him away. He would be punished for that later. And Romano knew it. And yet he still did it. "Just get off of me, idiota!"

He resisted the urge to punch his brother in the face. The time would come later. For now, he allowed a smile to grace his features and dragged his brother away, waving goodbye to Spain the idiot as he did so.

As soon as they'd entered Romano's house, his act dropped. He swung around and punched Romano in the face, sending the man into the wall. Romano held his arms up, fear in his eyes. He chuckled. Romano flinched.

"What's the matter, fratello?" He punched Romano in the ribs. "Don't tell me you're _scared_?" A kick to the legs. "But you knew this was coming, didn't you, fratello?" A punch to the shoulder. "You disappoint me, fratello."

"Mi dispiace!" Romano cried.

He scowled. "You better me, fratello, or your little boy toy will have to be brought into this. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Romano did his best to glare, although he still had a terrified look in his eyes. "L-leave the tomato bastard out of this! He has nothing to do with it!" This earned him a hard punch to the face, effectively silencing the man for the time being.

"You have such a big mouth, fratello," he said 'sweetly'. "Better be careful…"

He rubbed his thumb gently along Romano's cheekbone. A quirked a smile and tilted his head. Time to turn on the Italian charm. No one, not even his dear brother, was resistant to it. "But you know … you can always …" he leaned in close, too close, "… use that mouth for _other_ things …"

Romano inhaled sharply. The older man looked away. The younger one took the opportunity to attack the other's neck with kisses and bites. Romano found himself moaning and shifting uncomfortably. Moans turned to pants as delicate fingers stroked and twirled his curl. Lips captured lips, but who initiated the kiss was unknown.

He led Romano to the couch, touching him in just the right places. He lied Romano down, stripped them both of their pants, and grabbed ahold of the throbbing member. Romano reached out for his own curl. He captured his older brother's wrists in his free hand and placed them above his head.

"You're so beautiful, fratello," he whispered in Romano's ear. He stroked his brother's member slowly, tauntingly. "I don't understand why Spain doesn't take you every time he sees you."

Romano stayed silent. He took the chance to continue speaking. "You help me, fratello, and we'll show the world who we are, what we can do." A nip to the shoulder. "We won't be called cowards anymore. We won't be called idiots anymore. Everyone will take us seriously." A feathery kiss to the neck.

"Spain will take you seriously."

"Stop talking and get on with it!"

He stretched his brother's entrance with his fingers, meanwhile keeping his lips busy on Romano's nipples. Romano whined and mewled at the sensations, arching up into the younger man's mouth. Eventually, he had applied the lube, and the two were one.

As he thrust into his brother, he murmured, "You're so beautiful, fratello. You're so handsome." A few pants, a few moans from the both of them. "You're perfect, fratello. And I am, too. We can be perfect together. We can show the world how perfect we are. How perfect _you _are."

Closer, now. Closer.

"They will respect us. Respect you. Spain especially. He'll see you aren't that kid he raised. He'll see how handsome and mature and _perfect_ you are. And because he'll see that, he'll see how _powerful_ we are. He'll want you more than ever."

Hands, clawing at each other. Close, so close.

"Together, we can make it happen. We can do this, but only if we work together, fratello."

Almost, almost.

"Okay, dammit, just tell me what to do and I'll do it!" Romano cried.

And then they both came. He pulled out, grabbed his clothes, grinned down at the exhausted Italian. He grinned. "I'm glad you see it my way, fratello. I would hate you have to fight you."

And so he left.

Same as always.


	32. Day Eighty-Six: Seeing Red

_**There are probably some historical inaccuracies in this. Sorry!**_

_**Gah, messed up my formatting *angry face*  
**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-SIX: Seeing Red**

_Characters: China; (mentioned) Russia_

_Pairing(s): none (although there's a slight, slight possible pairing at the end. You decide.)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

**Red.**

_The color of communism._

Had it always been like that? Or had someone just decided, 'hey, that's communist!'?

He didn't remember.

He didn't _want_ to remember.

He just knew that it was the color of his flag, now. Had it always been that color?

He couldn't remember what it was like before.

All he could see was red.

**Red.**

_The color of blood._

He saw this so often, too often, in his long life. Why must it always come down to bloodshed?

Massacres. Wars. People injured. People dying.

War with Japan. Nanking.

War with himself. Civil War. Blood. Blood everywhere.

His own people shot by the government.

So perhaps red should be the color of war.

He didn't care anymore.

All he cared about was red.

**Red.**

_The color of anger._

His people's. His own. Other countries'. The lines blurred.

His people were angry at the government. Until they weren't allowed to be angry.

Other countries were angry at him for giving in.

His own anger at his position. He was communist, the last thing he'd ever wanted for his people.

Anger at Russia, for starting it all.

It _was_ Russia, right? He couldn't remember. He didn't care to remember.

All he knew was red.

**Red.**

_The color of love._

For although he hated it, he also loved it. A part of him loved communism.

How he hated himself for it.

A part of him loved Russia for introducing it.

A part of him loved and embraced the new system.

His people and boss were changing him.

All he embraced was red.


	33. Day Thirty-Seven: Eyes

**DAY THIRTY-SEVEN: Eyes**

_Characters: guess! (I like these, can you tell?)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst (I guess …)_

OoOoOo

Eyes say a lot about a person, don't they?

'Windows to the soul,' or some shit like that.

Ever laughed at a person for saying this?

Ever denied the truth in this?

Because you're wrong.

Eyes tell you everything about your friend, your neighbor, your sister, your brother.

They share secrets that their mouths won't say.

They reveal hardships that your mind won't admit.

They tell you what the person is really like.

Because anyone can pick up an act.

Hell, you've seen it before.

All the fucking time.

That's why you won't know who I am until I've told you.

The person I show the world is different from the person I really am.

But if you looked into my eyes, you'd understand.

You'd see all the shit I've gone through.

You'd see the hurt, the pain, the anger.

Three of the four hide behind smiles.

Smiles are useless.

What's the point to pretending to be happy?

My eyes tell all.

Still, no one sees.

No one sees any of us.

We all have purple eyes.

Have you ever wondered why?

It's just us four.

No one else.

Because of a contract we made a long time ago.

Everyone knows he plagues one of us.

They are completely oblivious to the pain he brings the rest of us.

So we all hide.

Three behind smiles.

One behind a cold mask.

And still no one asks.

No one knows.

No one sees.

Who are we?

You're friendly neighborhood northern nations who are in too deep with an evil man.

Who is this man?

General Winter.

The man who tricked us into a contract, sealed with the color of our eyes.

See if you know who we are now.

See if you know who _I_ am now.

I doubt you'll know.

After all, I'm too cheery and sweet and easily intimidated to be this dark and bitter.

Am I right?

Don't answer.

I know I'm right.

OoOoOo

_**Seriously, though. Guess! (It really isn't that hard if you know Hetalia. I put a lot of clues in this one. A hint, though: I based color off the manga.)**_


	34. Day Thirty-Six: Precious Treasure

_**This is a companion!piece to 'Two Roads'. I highly suggest you read that one first to understand what's going on, as this is a direct continuation.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-SIX: Precious Treasure**

_Characters: Korea; China_

_Pairing(s): oh-so-slight Korea/China_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/family_

OoOoOo

He took the razor with trembling hands. He removed the blade, ignoring the cuts on his fingers. His heart pounded, his blood rushed through his body … and yet his head was the clearest it had ever been. He wasn't North. He wasn't South. He was just Korea. Yes … He pressed the blade to his wrist … Just Korea.

Blood poured from his wrist, staining the floor and his clothes. He didn't care. For the first time in a long time, he could think without arguing with himself. It felt as if he was whole again. As if there was only one of him. Tears fell from his cheeks, his lips spread into a wide smile. He felt like laughing. So he did. He laughed and laughed. He didn't even know why he was laughing.

He sniffed, pressed the blade into his wrist again. The laughing died down to quiet chuckles. He fell onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. The blade fell from his fingers. Everything was getting dizzy and hazy and he couldn't even think too well anymore, and still his mind was clearer than before. The pain that usually tore him apart was now a dull throb, a mere annoyance. He felt complete.

And then China showed up.

He continued to smile and giggle a bit. China looked so funny, eyes wide and body frozen. And then suddenly, China was kneeling on the ground beside him, pressing a towel from the cabinet onto his wrist. He didn't move, didn't react, not even when China started crying and speaking gibberish in Chinese. He just kept smiling and giggling.

"Stop it, aru!" China snapped, this time in their shared tongue. Korea blinked wearily, feeling tired and overwhelmingly calm. When had he last been this calm, this at peace with himself? It had been too long.

"I feel whole again, hyung!" Korea said, smiling. China froze. Korea kept looking up at the ceiling, as if it might tell him the secrets of the world. "I feel complete." He was tired. So tired. He closed his eyes.

China shook his shoulder with one hand, the other still pressing the towel – now bright blood red – to his wrist. "Don't fall asleep, aru!" Korea wondered why China sounded so scared. He was just Korea. Just a … a nation torn in two. A broken nation.

"I'm tired, hyung," Korea murmured, head lolling off to the side.

"I don't care, aru! You stay awake, Im Yong Soo, or I swear I'll …"

Korea opened his eyes. Even though he couldn't focus on anything, he could still make out China's face, which was now as tearstained as his. "I'm tired, hyung. Of fighting myself. Of pretending. Of being torn into pieces. I'm just … tired." He wasn't even aware of anything he was saying, just the fact that he was speaking.

"Yong Soo … I didn't know …"

He grinned wryly. "Didn't know you cared, hyung … I'm tired …"

China choked back a sob and threw his arms around Korea. After a moment, he pulled back and stared into Korea's eyes. "I'm sorry I never told you how precious you are. I'm sorry, Yong Soo."

Korea closed his eyes. "I'm not anything special …"

China resumed pressing on Korea's wrist. Thankfully, the blood was starting to slow. "Yes, you are, Yong Soo. You are so very precious to me. That's why you can't give up."

The pain was returning. The pain from the fighting and arguing and just plain differences between the two parts of him … It was coming back. He started crying again. "It hurts, hyung," he whined pitifully, looking up at China.

The cut finally, finally stopped bleeding – a lot faster than if Korea had been human, but still so agonizingly slow. China brushed away some hair from Korea's face. "I'm here, Yong Soo. I'll help you."

Korea leaned into the hand. "You promise?"

China pressed a kiss to Korea's forehead, slightly hoping that Korea was too out of it to remember it later. "I promise."


	35. Day Forty-Two: Standing Still

_**Hey, all! Sorry for the crappiness of this one. I had so much planned out for it, but I'm heading down to North Carolina tomorrow 'til Sunday, and I forgot to finish this until the last minute. Also, I might not be able to post any oneshots for this over the weekend (I have a lot of homework to keep up with), but as there is a lot of driving, I will probably be able to write. I'll write one each day, if I can, but will probs post them Monday, or Sunday night. No promises, though!**_

_**Phew, long author's note outta the way!**_

_**This is a companion!piece to 'Fairy Tale.' I suggest you read that first. This is a different writing style, I'm sorry for that. And I'm pretty sure I overdid it a bit … Sorry D:**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-TWO: Standing Still**

_Characters: Iceland; Denmark; (implied) Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): drama/angst_

OoOoOo

It's that fear you have when you know that everything – and nothing – is going to change. Your heart pounds and your mind murmurs constant what-ifs until your courage vanishes, and you're back where you started. Every day it happens. You say, "Today. Today, I will say it." And then you overthink every detail and you see the person you were going to tell, and you can't do it because _everything will change_.

And then one day, you actually do it. You've told one person and there wasn't any problem so you decide to try again. In hindsight, you should have known it was too good to be true, too easy and simple. You can't believe you thought one person defined them all. But you don't know, and you do believe it, and so you tell another person you're close to. He stops speaking, and you start shaking, and time is standing still, and you're just hoping it won't be too bad. You're shaking and stuttering and nervous but hopeful that it will be okay, yet you're still scared out of your wits.

It's even worse when the expected happens, and he shuns you. He stops speaking to you, won't answer when you call, and the one time you get through to him, he freaks out – yells at you, says it's a sin, tells you you're disgusting and a freak of nature. Slowly, you're breaking – becoming quieter than normal, having random crying fits when no one's around. You're afraid to tell anyone else – what-ifs continue speaking to you, have become louder now that their warnings have been confirmed.

You don't even remember the other person, the one who supports you. You only remember the bad, the horrible, the worst. And soon, his big mouth has spread it to others, and those peoples' mouths gossip to their friends, and so on and so forth until _everyone knows_. You're humiliated and horrified and just want to die, even though most of them aren't as bad as the second person you told. You don't even notice the people who support you, or the ones who are quiet about their disagreement. You hear and see and notice the ones who swear at you, preach at you, lecture at you … Their voices seem louder than the others.

You wish you had never come out, for although the secret has gone, the ridicule has increased to unbearable heights. You wish you can go back in time and warn your past self. You wish that Iceland had never told Denmark he was gay.


	36. Day Seventy-Two: Mischief Managed

_**This … I don't even know. Characters are OOC. This is not to be taken seriously. At all.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SEVENTY-TWO: Mischief Managed**

_Characters: Spain; France; Prussia; (brief) Italy_

_Pairing(s): none (although there's brief onesided France/unnamed girl)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

_Sometimes, you've got to just take what life throws at you._

See Spain. See Spain laugh. See Spain smile. See Spain run … right into a brick wall.

Spain = :D

Life = XD

Spain: 0

Life: 1

Spain: "Hahaha! I have a bump on my head!"

Spain = ^^

Life = -.-'

Spain: 0

Life: 0

Life: "What do I have to do to get this guy down?"

Spain: "Fusosososo~!"

Spain: 0.5

Life: -0.5

_But then, there are those times when you need to argue with it._

France flirts with a girl. The girl doesn't respond. France is sad.

France: "I just want to spread l'amour!"

France = )':

Life = ;)

France: 0

Life: 1

France won't give up. He eventually manages to charm the girl.

France = :D

Life = :(

France: 1

Life: 0

But then the girl hits France in the nuts with her purse and sprays pepper spray in his eyes.

France = :O

Life = :D

France: -1,000,000

Life: 2

_Or, you just plain fight it, kicking and screaming._

"No! I refuse!"

Silence.

"I'll kill you with my awesomeness!"

*chirp, chirp*

*bang, bang, crash, smack*

"There. Much better, kesese…"

Life: "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Prussia = :)

Life = O.O

Prussia: 100

Life: -50

_It's really best when you have a nice, healthy dose of all three._

"Si!"

"Oui!"

"Ja!"

"Mischief managed!"

*creepy laughs*

Life: T.T

_But that's why Life hates the Bad Touch Trio …_

"Fusosososo~!"

"Ohnhonhon~!"

"Kesesesese~!"

Life: "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?"

_And that is the moral of the story._

"There's a moral in a fucking fanfiction?!"

_Shut up! You're breaking the fourth wall!_

"It is rather strange … and in such horrible writing, too!

…_Eff you._

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

"Germany?!"

"No … _Life!_"

"Even _worse!_"

_Quit it with the fourth wall!_

"PASTA~!"

"Fusosososo…"

"Ohnhonhon…"

"Kesese…"

*censored*

_I'm not cleaning that up._


	37. Day Twenty-Three: Cat

_**So, apparently you readers like humor. *shrug* Alrighty, then. I'll try my best. **_

_**By the way, one of the phrases in the challenge is 'Playing the Melody'. I don't know what this means. Or does it even have a meaning? Please help!**_

_**Okay, so I recently started reading manga, and my favorite one so far is Fruits Basket. I started thinking (not a good thing) and this came about!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY-THREE: Cat**

_Characters: Japan; China; (brief) South Korea_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

This is the story of how the manga 'Fruits Basket' came to be. But first off, let me make one thing clear. Natsuki Takaya, the supposed manga artist/writer of 'Fruits Basket,' does not exist.

*le gasp!*

Yes, that's right, dear readers! The true manga artist is in fact …

none other than …

our very own …

Okay, who keeps messing with my document?

*Sealand sneaks away*

*frustrated sigh*

Stupid kid … Anyway, as I was _trying_ to tell you before, the actual manga artist of 'Fruits Basket' is Kiku Honda. Otherwise known as Japan.

*le gasp!*

*female readers faint. So do half of the male readers.*

*growl*

Someone get those idiots awake! Geez, I'm trying to tell a story, here!

*water drops from the sky*

*readers wake up*

Don't down them! I need a fricking audience!

*rolls eyes*

As I was _saying_ –

-You're breasts are mine, da ze~!

Get. The frick. OUT OF HERE!

*South Korea runs off, laughing*

Are you all _finished?_

*readers nod, frightened*

Good. NOW then …

As I said, Japan is the real writer and artist of 'Fruits Basket.' DON'T FAINT AGAIN!

*readers sway but manage to stay conscious*

I mean, come on, haven't you ever noticed the main female character's last name is 'Honda'? Doesn't that seem a bit too much like a coincidence?

-What if it _is_ just a coinky-dink?

GET OUTTA HERE!

…Wait … Never mind, that was my inner voice talking. We're good.

_For now…_

Whoa. I have split personalities. Cool.

Anyway, so, here's how Japan actually got the information. I mean, he's frickin' _Japan_. He doesn't _know_ *BEEP* about *BEEP*-ing Chinese stuff.

-Didn't China raise –

SHUT THE *BEEP* UP AND *BEEP*-ING LET ME *BEEP*ING SPEAK *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

…

QUIT MESSING WITH THE RANDOM BEEPER THINGY!

*random reader throws beeper thingy over shoulder, whistles innocently*

Okay. Anyway. So basically, Japan wanted to be all sneaky-smooth and stuff. 'Cause China would be angry if he knew what Japan was up to. The conversation went something like this:

-Ni hao, Kai-lan!

Sorry. Wrong channel…

-Ni hao, Japan, aru.

-China-san, what is the story of the Chinese Zodiac?"

-*enter long story here*

Smooooooth, Japan. Nice and subtle.

So then, Japan made up characters based off of his friends. 'Cause that's the easiest way to make characters. Right? Right? Am I right?

So, Kagura is kinda like Belarus. And Kyo is based off of Romano. That makes Ayame like Spain (mixed with Poland). And so on.

This is what anime and manga is. They are all alike. No lie.

And yet we still read and watch them …

So, Japan hid this stuff from China. Until the anime came out. And then China saw it. And freaked out. The confrontation went something like this:

-WHAT THE *BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*?

-…I am sorry. I do not know what you are talking about.

-YOU MADE THE CAT LIKE … LIKE … *goes off crying*

-Um … I apologize …?

-YOU BETTER, ARU! *hugs Hello Kitty doll, mutters about cats being sweet and cuddly*

-*backs away sloooooooowwwwllllyyy*

And THAT is why 'Fruits Basket' exists!

… Or IS it …?

ONLY JAPAN KNOWS!

So don't ask me!

Seriously.

Don't ask me.

OoOoOo

_**So, as I said at the top, I just started reading Fruits Basket. If you have anything to say about it (even though this is a Hetalia fanfiction), please don't spoil the manga past volume 6. And I haven't watched the anime, either. Thank you, and please review to let me know if you liked this or not!**_


	38. Day Ninety-One: Drowning

_**Not my best work. Try to guess who it is! (again…)**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-ONE: Drowning**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/tragedy_

OoOoOo

He's drowning.

Drowning in sorrow.

Drowning in beer.

Drowning in everything. Drowning in nothing.

Because of everything. Because of nothing.

He doesn't even know anymore.

It didn't used to be like this.

But then they left.

And now … now he's just drowning.

With no one to pull him up.

Did he mention he can't swim?

Not like he's trying to anymore.

He used to fight it.

Used to pretend.

Now he's lifeless.

He doesn't care.

Just like everybody else.

They left him.

Even he's going to leave him soon.

Does that make sense?

Probably not.

He's standing on a beach, staring out at the water.

Takes a step.

Drops his beer in the sand.

Runs out, splashing, fully clothed, trying to get away from the figurative drowning.

Material drowning is much better.

Soon …

It'll all be over soon …


	39. Day Twenty-One: Vacation

_**So I've been learning a tiny bit about Vietnam War and came up with this oneshot.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY-ONE: Vacation**

_Characters: America; England_

_Pairing(s): none (although you might see a teensy, tiny bit of USUK)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/tragedy_

OoOoOo

The day was finally here. Finally, finally the war had ended. For America, at least. He was at that point where he didn't care about much anymore. After all, his people hated him, hated his boss, hated the war. They didn't have any respect for the soldiers. They didn't have any national pride.

America could feel stabbing pains all over his body. Some of the pain was from actual wounds and scars he'd gotten while over at Vietnam. But most of it was from his peoples' anger and frustration. Throughout the war, he'd had to feel it, and it just got worse and worse. He'd taken to shooting himself when he was alone, in the arm, in the leg, in the shoulder, to feel something other than the pain of his people's protests and the pain of war in general. No one ever heard the gunshots, and he healed quickly enough. True, there were marks, but no one had ever questioned them.

He was still laughing and smiling around his people, his soldiers, even when someone died. He didn't know any other way to express his sorrow, so he hid it instead, just as the soldiers did. No matter how many wars he'd fought, it still hurt when someone died. So they all joked around, as if nothing had happened.

**/break/**

One of the guys, before being killed by a hand grenade, always thought about going home, just as they all did. "Man, I need a vacation," he'd say.

"Don't we all?" another guy would reply.

America would grin. "Go to Hawaii. Heard it's beautiful there."

But then the guy had been killed. Afterwards, they had all stood around him, just looking. They talked to the corpse as if it was still alive, just for a few minutes, and then dispersed. Only America and one other guy remained beside the body.

"He finally got his vacation," the other soldier said.

And America replied, "Yup. Probably better than Hawaii, too."

**/break/**

Throughout the war, America had not received many letters. He stayed in war the entire time, as was a nation's duty, and so quickly lost sight of reality. There were two things that he used in times of war to keep him grounded: England, and hope. Hope had vanished long ago, years before his participation in the war had ended. He'd realized how futile it was and had attempted to persuade his boss to let them leave, to no avail. So he'd clung onto England.

He'd had a photo of the two of them, and a letter from England, dated back to World War II. The letter, in a (very) roundabout way, applauded his bravery and wins. It kept him sane. He wrote several letters to England, telling him about the war, asking for help, but receiving none, and no reply.

Except for one.

The letter, from England, belittled America and mocked him for his "foolish game" in the "useless war with no end in sight." England wrote to America that his "intentions were faulty and from a mind of a child" and that it was time for him to "stop playing hero."

America had gone off into the woods, alone, with rain pouring down. He was glad. The rain hid his tears. He'd crushed both letters and the picture and ripped it into pieces. He'd wanted to scream at England that he wasn't playing around, that he knew that war wasn't a game, that he wasn't a hero. He was a villain in this war, and he hadn't wanted to be involved anyway.

He'd left the papers to decompose from the rain and headed back to the other soldiers. He didn't write another letter for the rest of the war.

England's letter had been written in 1967*.

**/break/**

He returned home, to his lands. To the rest of his people, and their fury. He was upset that they hated him so much. That they hated the soldiers so much. He felt as if he'd let them down. And in a way, he had. They had lost the war, and many people. And for what?

He tried to adjust back to the way he'd been. He went to McDonald's. He went to clubs and other restaurants. He went back to the office, but couldn't concentrate. All he could think of was how he'd let down his people. How there had been no reason for involvement in the Vietnam War.

England never called him. Not once.

**/break/**

Six months after attempting to adjust to civilian life – and office hours – America was alone in his house, with a gun in his hand. Instead of crying, he felt strangely calm and numb. It was going to be over. All the pain, all the shame. Gone. But what about his people?

America took his cell phone in his hand and speed dialed the one person he could count on. All the while, he didn't remove his gaze from the gun.

"What do you want, you bloody git! Do you know what time it is here!"

Oh, right. Time zones. America tried to chuckle, but failed. It was no use pretending anymore. "Hey, Iggy. Just wanted to say that I'm leaving for a while."

England sighed in irritation. America was seriously regretting ever calling, but he had to make sure his people would be okay. "Is that all? Why are you even leaving anyway?"

America grinned wryly. Remembering that one soldier, he said, "I need a vacation."

"And how does that involve me!" England's voice picked up again.

Worried that England would hang up, America spoke quickly. "Promise me you'll care for my people, okay?"

A pause. Then, "What are you talking about, America? Why can't you care for them yourself?"

America ignored England's tone. "Like I said … I need a vacation."

He heard rustling on the other side of the line, as if England was sitting up or something. England's voice was steadily becoming more panicked, "America, what are you up to? What are you saying?"

He hummed thoughtfully. He turned the gun over in his hand. He was starting to feel pain again. The emotional pain. Without thinking, he shot his foot.

"America!"

Holding back shouts of pain, America grinned, even though it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry. Forgot I was on the phone for a minute. But you'll take care of my people, right? You're the only one I trust to do it."

"America, what did you do! What … what are you planning to do! You bloody git, don't do anything stupid!"

He watched his foot heal, leaving a mark. "It's okay, Iggy. I'm okay. I'm just going on a permanent vacation, so I need you to take care of my people."

"Shut up! You're not going anywhere! Bloody … I'm booking a flight right now. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't … don't _do_ anything until I get there!"

England was still talking when America hung up the phone. Calmly, too calmly, he put the gun in his mouth.

In a single moment, it was all over.

OoOoOo

_*** 1967 = I don't know much about the Vietnam War, but U.S. involvement was from 1965 to 1975 (I think; around there, anywho). So, in other words, America had a lot of time to lose his sanity.**_


	40. Day Eighty: Words

**DAY EIGHTY: Words**

_Characters: guess the main character; (brief) Japan, China, others_

_Pairing(s): none, unless you squint_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/tragedy_

OoOoOo

I don't have anyone to write this out to. So I'm leaving that part blank. I don't know if anyone will find me, or if nobody will care. But I still want to put this down in writing.

These are the words I'll never say.

These are my last words, to all of you.

Or maybe to none of you. Do you notice I'm gone? Did you notice when I left messages on your phones, saying my last goodbyes? And even then, those goodbyes were hollow and fake and not what I want to say.

So I'm saying them here. On this paper.

You would call it a suicide note. I call it getting everything off my chest.

First off, I do and I don't blame you. Any of you. Or maybe all of you. After all, everyone helped to tear me apart into two separate countries. Do any of you realize how difficult and confusing it is to be the personification of two nations? I hear everything. I feel everything. It was worse when my people, from both sides, fought and killed each other. You remember that, China-hyung? When you helped one side and made it hard for me to even sit up, or breathe?

I'll keep going, for now. I'll get back to that.

Second, I'm hurting. I've _been_ hurting. For years. For decades. Japan knows this. China knows this. You all know this. Or maybe my carefree façade actually tricked you. Ha, guess you guys aren't as smart as I'd hoped. I guess that means you won't figure out what I'm doing. You probably thought that I was joking around.

But since when was 'I'm done. I'm leaving. Permanently.' a joke? I thought you'd figure it out. I mean, I'm not stupid. I know that you all were home, ignoring my calls. But that's okay. It means I'll die uninterrupted.

Alright. Time to single people out. This is the part you've all been waiting for, isn't it?

China – I'll say it bluntly: you've got a stick up your ass. You don't know what it means to have fun, or even allow other people to do so. As much as you hate it, you need to realize that this is the 21st century. We can't all be like you. I wish I'd realized that sooner. I looked up to you when I was younger, but all you did was push me away. Why wasn't I good enough for you? And then you went and helped one side of me, the north side, during the Korean War. You should have stayed out of it. As soon as you chose a side, I lost all respect I had for you. You know why? Because you helped me get separated. You helped me lose my mind. I hear both sides, I feel both sides, and both sides are tearing me apart. I can't handle it anymore.

Japan – I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. You took me over and hurt my people for who knows how many years. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. And the thing is, I still don't understand why. You never told me. You never respected me enough to at least tell me why you beat me, chained me, whipped me, raped me. Deny it all you want. I, at least, know the truth. I can't even stand to write anything else to you.

Why was I never good enough for either of you? For Hong Kong, for Taiwan, Vietnam, so many others? Was I really just a dumb kid to you? Did any of you really _try_ to talk to me? Ask me if I was okay? Do any of you really care?

I bet you're happy that I'm dead. Or, will be dead. Whatever. The point is, I'm out of your lives, now.

For good.


	41. Day Thirty-Four: Stars

**_Again, ff has messed up my formatting. I don't want to put in line breaks ... for obvious reasons. It's a freaking POEM. I don't want to break up a poem! Grr ... Anyway, after every 4th line, pretend there's an extra space for the next stanza (since ff won't let me keep my original formatting!)._  
**

**_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed this! _**

**_I have a poll up on my profile relating to the challenge, so please take two seconds to vote!  
_**

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-FOUR: Stars**

_Characters: guess (again)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family/poetry_

OoOoOo

A star is a star.

Isn't that right?

All it does is shimmer and

light up the night.

A girl is a girl, and

a boy is a boy,

and yet either one will give one

much joy.

So if there was a star for a girl, and

a star for a boy,

wouldn't there be more light for the

world to enjoy?

Say there is a star for 25 girls, and

say there is a star for 25 boys;

grab those stars and sew them onto

a material of which no one can destroy.

Each of those stars is now something new,

and each of those children is something else, too.

But when a certain song is played at baseball games,

you'll know of which each star is named.

And when a certain young man stands proud and tall,

each of his stars will put him together should he ever fall –

they put him above all,

and only they can see past his invisible wall.


	42. Day Thirty-Two: Night

_**Vote on my poll, please!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-TWO: Night**

_Characters: more guessing games_

_Pairing(s): you guess the characters, you know the pairing_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/romance_

OoOoOo

Night.

It hides everything.

The face you're making, the face I'm making.

The shapes our bodies are contorted into.

The shame.

The regret.

The pain.

The anguish.

It hides the shape of your face from my eyes, but my hands can still feel it, can still feel the pin in your hair.

I still know who you are, and it sickens me. It sickens _us_.

We're sick.

We're not supposed to do this. We're brothers.

But not at night.

Not when the blinds are closed, the lights are out, the door is shut.

We moan, love, _be_.

We grunt and bite and touch and pleasure, but never say those words in which we yearn to say. We're not supposed to be like this.

Yet we've come to love the night, and what comes with it. The pleasure. The love that we can't proclaim. For it's wrong.

We're wrong._ It's_ wrong.

Our hands shouldn't be touching those places. Our teeth shouldn't be biting skin. Our tongues shouldn't battle as they so often do. Our heat and warmth and _need_ shouldn't even _be_.

We don't care.

We're scared.

And in so much love.

There, I said it. The forbidden words that can never be anything but platonic in the day, but are always oh so sexual and sensual at night.

Your breath in my ear – Say it. Say you love me. Say you'll take me, say you'll let me take you. Say it doesn't matter. Say this is okay. Say that everything will be okay.

Lie to me.

Do it.

Please.

At the same time, I don't want you to. Tell me the truth. That we're disgusting. That we shouldn't feel this way.

Please.

I don't even know, anymore. Just speak to me. Speak with that lilting voice of yours, that voice that is so monotone during the day but so needy and breathless and hungry at night.

Murmur sweet nothings in my ear. Say you like it. Say you want it.

Say I'm not the only one who feels like this.

Let me run my hands through your hair, remove your Nordic cross pin, devour your mouth with mine. Let me be someone other than your brother. Let me be your lover.

But only at night. That's the rule.

Love me back. Say it's not just me.

Love me.

All the time.

Please.

Not just at night, please, I'm begging you!

I love you so much, it hurts. I want everyone to know you're mine, I'm yours. I want everyone to know. I want nobody to know.

I love you. How many times should I say it until you understand? I hear you say it. You hear me say it. But only at night.

I want to be with you during the day. I want to hug you, kiss you, make love wherever and whenever. I don't want to hide. I do want to hide.

I want you. You want me. But we can't express it. Only at night.

Only ever at night.


	43. Day Seventy-Three: I Can't

_**VOTE ON MY POLL!**_

_**This takes place after 'Breathe Again' and before 'Blood'. I highly suggest you at least read 'Breathe Again' before this one.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SEVENTY-THREE: I Can't**

_Characters: Iceland; Finland_

_Pairing(s): none (but I suppose you can see FinIce or something … I'm pretty sure that doesn't exist, though … now I kinda want to write one, haha!)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

It's only been two days since he was caught. Caught … How could he have been so careless? And why … why did he cry like that in front of Finland? Iceland rubs his wrist, relishes in the pain the action brings him. He lost his cool in front of someone else. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs to be more careful. He needs to be more collected. No one wants to see his emotions. No one wants him around. He needs to … He needs …

Anxiety bubbles up in his stomach and spreads up through his throat and into his head. He can't breathe, he can't think. He feels like he's suffocating. He needs to free the emotions locked inside of him. He needs to breathe. _He needs to breathe_.

He jumps from his chair and runs out of the meeting room, ignoring the stares of the rest of the world. His vision is getting hazy. His thoughts are on one thing, and one thing only – blood. Pain. Cut.

He needs it. He needs it so badly he can't describe it. It's getting harder and harder to fight the urge. He slams open the bathroom door, closes it, brings a razor blade to his wrist. Almost immediately, the pressure is gone from his throat, his lungs. He can breathe. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, sees for the first time the tears on his face. He glares at his reflection. Emotion is bad. No one wants to see it. Not even he does.

He returns his gaze to his bloody wrist. It's not enough. It's never enough. He cuts a few more times, watches in relief as blood pours out of his body and into the sink. It's a little difficult to cut, due to his shaking hands. But no matter. He can still bleed. He isn't gone yet. He isn't broken yet.

"Iceland," a voice gasps. He whirls to face the man, Finland. His gut and his heart weigh heavily inside of him. Caught. Caught _again_. Now Finland will know he lied about getting help. Now … now _what_?

Finland takes a few steps forward. Iceland takes a few steps back. Finland reaches his hand out. "Iceland, please. We can fix this. You just need to trust me."

Iceland shakes his head rapidly, clutches the razor blade to his chest, ignores the blood staining his clothes and the floor. Finland wants to take the pain away. He wants to take away the only thing that keeps Iceland sane. He wants to 'fix' him. But there's nothing to fix. There isn't.

"Iceland …" Finland trails off, drops his hand, looks a bit lost. "At least let me help bandage your wrist."

Iceland thinks carefully, weighs his options. In the end, he decides to let Finland help wrap his cuts, as long as the smaller man doesn't try to take away his blade. He slips the razor blade, blood and all, back into his pocket before taking a wary step closer. Finland cleans and wraps his wrist gently. Iceland wishes he wasn't so gentle. He wants the pain. He wants it so bad.

Iceland tries to exit the bathroom, but Finland doesn't release his arm. "Let me go."

Finland shakes his head, eyes determined. "No. You need help, Iceland, whether you want it or not. You _know_ you need help!"

"No, I don't!" he snaps. He pulls at his arm. Finland tightens his grip. "You don't understand!" he cries, almost whines. He feels close to tears. Again.

"Then help me understand! _Make me_ understand!" Finland shouts back, eyes watering. "I just want to help."

"Well, I don't want your help! I want you to leave me alone!"

"Why do you cut?"

No. Not the dreaded 'why' question. Iceland freezes. Does he have an answer? Does he want one? Will he give one? He doesn't know why, and yet he does. But can he really put it into words? Does he even _want_ to?

"Because I need it," is what he settles for saying, voice considerably lower.

Finland, too, has calmed down. "No, you don't. Tell me what's wrong so that we can fix it."

"There's nothing to fix," Iceland snaps, eyes staring at the ground.

"Yes there is. You wouldn't do this if there was nothing wrong."

Iceland remains quiet. He doesn't have an answer. He can't give one. He can't explain. He's never been good at words. He's never been good at a lot of things. But keeping quiet, keeping out of the way, keeping his emotions in check – those are things he's good at. He's good at keeping to himself.

"Why do you cut?" Finland repeats gently. Iceland chokes back a sob, but tears still manage to escape.

"I can't stop," he says, broken.

And that's when he realizes, that he _is_ broken. Cutting, keeping to himself, pleasing others – he's broken. Cutting doesn't keep him together. It breaks him even more. He looks at the scars on one wrist, the bandages on the other, this time with new eyes. He's broken. But does it matter? Finland wants to help fix him. Does he want to be fixed?

"I don't want to stop," Iceland says forlornly.

OoOoOo

_**And there is the third part! I have one other planned, and an idea for another. I'm considering making a mini chapter-fic where I just place all the 'pieces' of this fic together (one – so it's less confusing and in order; and, two – so people who don't read this fic can have a chance to read what I think is one of my favorite series in this fic).**_

_**PLEASE VOTE ON MY POLL! No one's voting, and it's kinda depressing. It makes me feel like a poor writer. I don't want to advertise, but it seems like I might have to in order to get some attention :/**_


	44. Day Three: Light

_**This is crap, but I really wanted to continue 'Dark'. Yes, this comes after 'Dark'. And I've decided that both story/drabble things are a part of the same world as 'Dying'.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THREE: Light**

_Characters: Korea; Iceland; (mentioned) Norway_

_Pairing(s): KorIce_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/romance_

OoOoOo

Iceland helped him see the light side of life.

He hasn't tried to die since then.

He still thinks about it, though.

They sit together, just before dawn.

_Why are we here?_

Iceland grabs his hand, grins sadly.

He doesn't like it.

It's too sad.

_I'm showing you something light, to push away the dark._

He tries to smile.

_Didn't we already go through this?_

Iceland sits closer to him.

_Yes. But I see how you really feel._

He turns his head away.

Iceland forces him to look back.

_I'm going to help you, just as Norway helped me._

He shrugs.

_I don't think you can help me._

He just doesn't care.

Not anymore.

They watch, silent, as the sun rises.

It's beautiful.

But haunting.

To him, anyway.

He wants to run into the light and never look back.

He wants to disappear.

He wants to die.

If this light is so beautiful and bright, what about the light a person supposedly sees when he dies?

Is that light even more beautiful?

He wants to find out.

Iceland's hand brushes his cheek.

He's crying.

Iceland holds him.

_Why do you want to save someone who doesn't want to be saved?_

Iceland kisses him.

He kisses back.

He pushes Iceland onto his back, runs his hand through white hair.

He remembers why he's still there.

He turns his back to the sunrise, straddles Iceland.

There's a light who is always with him.


	45. Day Forty-Nine: Stripes

_**This is a companion!piece to 'Stars'. They can be read in either order. Again, ff messed up the formatting, so pretend there's a space after every 4th line.  
**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-NINE: Stripes**

_Characters: if you guessed 'Stars' correctly, then this is easy_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family/poetry_

OoOoOo

Some stripes are red,

the square sky is blue

No one gives much thought

to the meanings, it's true.

The red stripes combine

with the children of night,

for in their fight for freedom,

their shots give them a fright.

The red shows us

who we used to be –

under British rule,

they didn't hear our screams.

So half the colonies

combined with the red.

They became more than children

and more than the dead.

The white stripes combine

with the children of day,

where some wanted peace,

they hoped and they prayed.

The white shows us

who we wanted to be –

broken away from Britain,

ourselves, free.

So half the colonies

combined with the white.

They became more than children

and more than a fight.

Put them together

and we should see

the past to remember –

what we did to be free.

Even more than just stripes,

even more than kids,

their father connects them,

for he is theirs, and they are his.

OoOoOo

_**My poll is still up! Seriously, though, I'm 'bout to give up … *shrugs* Oh, well. Didn't expect anything, anyway. **_

_**But if you won't vote on my poll, will you please review? I know I have followers, including a few new ones! Review and tell me which stories or poems you like, which ones you didn't like, anything, really. Constructive criticism is appreciated, as well.**_


	46. Day Seventy-One: Obsession

**DAY SEVENTY-ONE: Obsession**

_Characters: Korea; Japan; (mentioned) China_

_Pairing(s): noncon JapKor (I dunno the actual name for this); MAYBE a tiny bit of KorChina, if looked at the right way_

_Rated: T __**(HIGH T! BORDERLINE M)**_

_Genre(s): suspense/horror_

OoOoOo

"Scream all you want. No one can hear you."

_No, no, no! This can't be happening, this can't be happening! Where's Yao? Yao-hyung, please help me!_

Korea screamed as loud as he could, called for help in any language he was able to speak, struggled against his attacker. None did anything except give him a sore throat. It also earned him a sharp smack to his face. Stunned, he clamped his mouth shut. Tears slipped out of his eyes against his will. He sobbed, scared.

"Look at you, so fragile." Smack. "And crying, too. Stop crying, Yong Soo. You're not a child."

_I'm not fragile! I'm not, I'm not!_

Korea tried to calm himself, to no avail. He only cried harder. A punch to his gut sent him to his knees, gasping for breath. His wished his hands were untied, wished that his feet weren't chained to the floor, wished … just, wished. For a miracle.

His attacker brought out a whip. Korea whined and pleaded as he was pushed onto his stomach.

"You've been a bad boy, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream. "Listen to your elders, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream. "Do as you're told, Yong Soo." Crack. Scream.

_Stop calling me that name!_

Korea felt the blood seeping from his wounds in his back. His body shook in exhaustion and fear as he was whipped. Eventually, his voice gave out. He could no longer scream, only endure the pain in silence. Suddenly, the whipping stopped. He didn't dare relax. He tensed as he was flung onto his back. He somehow managed a bloodcurdling yell as the rocky ground hit his wounds.

"Hold still, Yong Soo," the voice whispered darkly into his ear.

_Leave me alone …_

Korea flinched away, shut his eyes tight, not wanting to look at his attacker. He shuddered. His heartbeat picked up. He tried to picture home, where he was safe … But … He wasn't safe anymore. They … They weren't safe anymore, either. He suddenly realized what all of this meant. A brief moment of courage overtook him, and he glared at the man in front of him.

"Leave my people alone," he hissed.

The man's facial expression didn't change. All he said was, "I'm surprised at you, Yong Soo. I thought you only cared about yourself."

Korea struggled to get himself into a kneeling position. He bared his teeth. "Leave them ALONE!" He pulled and yanked on the chains around his ankles and the ropes on his wrists. His attacker … his kidnapper … smacked him, hard, across the face. Korea tasted blood. He spit it at the man's feet.

The man knelt down in front of him, their faces inches apart. Korea's bravery vanished. And then the fear returned, tenfold, when a hand brushed his curl. He moaned before he realized what had happened. Only then did his eyes widen. Only then did he try to get away.

The man straddled him and held his tied wrists with one hand. With the other, he touched Korea's curl. Again. And again. Stroked it. Tugged it. Twisted it. At one point, he even licked it.

_Stopitstopitstopit! This isn't right!_

Korea found it impossible to resist moaning and whining. But he knew it was wrong. He knew it wasn't him, it was his body's natural reaction. It was okay. He was allowed to feel good … however much he didn't want this. But because it was just his curl, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like in all those movies, where the girl was … _raped_ … and then killed. It wasn't. He was a guy. And it was a curl.

_It's not rape. It's not. Is it? Maybe. But it's a curl. Not …_

His lower lip trembled. He stared at the person on top of him with betrayal, all the while moaning and whining. He didn't mean to make any of these sounds. They were natural. But … if he felt good … like this … was it really forced on him? He didn't understand. He found himself crying, his gaze distant, as he tried to escape mentally from the room.

As he got closer and closer to his climax – it doesn't mean he likes it, right? – he closed his eyes and tried to picture someone else – _anyone_ else – with him. Where this was consensual, not … not … it wasn't _rape_, was it? No, of course not, it was a curl, not … not …

He yelled out, half in ecstasy and half in despair, as he came. His attacker brushed a hand across Korea's face. Korea flinched back, shivering.

"That's a good boy, Yong Soo."

_Stop calling me that. You lost the right to call me that as soon as you … did all this … to me …_

"You're learning to listen to me, Yong Soo."

_Shut up, shut up, shut up … Don't call me that … I hate it … I hate you … I hate my name … Stop it … Stop tainting my name!_

The man whispered into his ear, "You're mine, Yong Soo."

_No … I'm not … Am I? Someone will … Someone will … What? Help someone like me? No one even likes me … But Yao … Please, someone save me …_

He was smacked across the face, followed by a harsh kiss. Their teeth clacked together. Korea was too scared and tired to fight back. He was smacked again.

_Please, someone save me._

"You're _mine_, _Yong. Soo._"

Korea took a shuddering breath.

_Yes. I'm yours … Kiku …_

OoOoOo

_**Aww, poor Korea! Yes, yanking the curl counts as rape … but Korea doesn't understand that. *sad face* He's so confused.**_

_**Review!**_

_**My poll is still up, by the way.**_


	47. Day Thirty-Five: Hold My Hand

_**This is a companion!piece/sequel to 'Dying'. I suggest you read that one first.**_

_**By the way, I get really lazy at the end. Sorry ahead of time.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTY-FIVE: Hold My Hand**

_Characters: Iceland; Norway_

_Pairing(s): NorIce if you wanna take it that way, but can be read as sibling love_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/family_

OoOoOo

_Take a step_, his mind whispers. _Just one step, and it'll all be over._

He licks his chapped lips. He looks straight ahead. It is in no way as beautiful as the view from his own cliffs, but he supposes it can't be helped. He's in Oslo, the capital of Norway … Norway's heart. He thinks it fitting, for him to die in a place so dear to his brother. Maybe this will sever the connection between him and Norway, so that he won't be stopped, and Norway won't mourn.

Dying in a city is nothing like he imagined before. He wanted to die surrounded in beauty. But Norway took him here, to keep an eye on him. Norway tried to get him to open up. It worked for awhile. But then he realized that he was only fooling himself. And so it has come to this, jumping from a building. Nothing special. But then again, noting in life is special. It's not beautiful here, but neither is humanity. It fits him better, he thinks, to die here than in his own home.

He looks down at his demise, at his savior. The people on the streets scurry around like ants. Tiny, pitiful ants, so easily stepped on. He grins wryly. They don't know how they are all puppets on strings, mice in mazes, following each other blindly. They are all so oblivious. He isn't. He is going to end it all, remove himself from a world that lacks true order and care.

He wonders how it will feel. Will the fall be instantaneous, the landing quick, so that he dies with a harsh smack to the ground – silently or loudly? Will the fall feel slow, as if he's flying, and then the cement will tear apart all order in his mind before finally granting him peace? His heart races with excitement. His eyes trace the exact spot he is going to die at.

He hears the door to the roof slam open. His muscles tense. He briefly wonders if he should jump, or fall, or simply step forward. He hears footsteps running towards him, hears his name called frantically, and his body decides for him. He jumps.

He cries out in pain when his shoulder is yanked up. Confused, he looks up. Norway, his poor naïve brother, holds desperately onto his hand. He dangles limply in his brother's grasp, just stares up at Norway with pleading eyes. He wants to die, he's so near it he tastes it, so why can't Norway let him go?

"Ísland … please," Norway gasps.

He knows that his brother is losing his grip. It's only a matter of time. He just hopes he doesn't drag his brother down with him.

"Please, don't," his brother begs. "Hold onto my hand. I can pull you up if you do some of the work."

He shakes his head. He refuses to speak. His brother won last time, but this time, he won't be fooled. He will accomplish his task. He turns his gaze to the ground below. His heartbeat picks up even more. He's excited. He wants this so badly, it hurts. He shifts his hand so that he'll slip from his brother's grip faster.

"Ísland!" his brother snaps. It doesn't faze him. He imagines himself falling, hitting the ground. It'll be perfect. It'll be a stroke of beauty in a horrible world. "Ísland, look at me!"

The shout startles him. He's never heard his brother sound so … fearful, so panicked. He looks up. Norway is crying.

"Please, Ísland," Norway begs. "Don't _do_ this to me!"

He doesn't understand. Why does his brother care?

"I _need you_! You can't do this! _Think_ about what you're trying to do!"

He says, "The world is full of horror and impurities. Anything beautiful has destruction and evil lurking behind it. It's not worth it."

His brother tightens his grip. He wishes Norway wouldn't do that. It makes this so much more painful for his brother.

"No, it's not. I can help you see the good in everything. I can help you see the light side." A pause. "Tell me something that's beautiful, right now, and I'll tell you how it's good."

He glances around quickly with his eyes. The only beauty around here is, "Your tears. They mean you're sad. They mean you're angry."

"They mean I care. They mean I love you! I cry because you're my brother. I don't want to lose you. Don't make me lose you."

"So that's one thing. What if there's nothing else? What if your tears are the only beautiful thing?"

"Then look at me and remember how much I care. Look at me and remember that I love you. Let me be your beauty, your purity, your light, your good. I can be all of that, you just have to _let me_."

He hesitates. One … one more chance. Maybe … maybe he can change. Maybe he can't. He looks down. It's not beautiful. Humanity isn't beautiful. He looks back at Norway's face. The tears are beautiful. Norway is beautiful.

He grabs onto Norway's hand with both of his and helps his brother pull him back to safety.


	48. Day One Hundred: Relaxation

**DAY ONE HUNDRED: Relaxation**

_Characters: guess (yes, I know I do this a lot)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst/poetry_

OoOoOo

I can't relax

if there's always something to do.

I can't stay still

when I always have to be looking over my shoulder.

I can't.

I just can't.

I'm the one who's the most affected.

Why? Why is it always me?

Why am I so scared

that I'm always shaking, always crying, always stuttering?

It doesn't even matter anymore.

I'm not his. I'm not anyone's.

I'm me. I'm independent.

I control

what happens to my people.

_I_ decide

what happens.

I don't belong

to anyone except myself.

I'm alone.

We've all fought for ourselves.

We all rule ourselves now.

But now I'm on my own.

No one

to tell me what to do.

No one

to hide behind.

That's just as frightening.

All those years with him have

changed me. Have hurt me.

I can't remember

how to stand alone.

I can't remember

what it's like to not be afraid.

I drink my fears away

and ignore everyone else.

There's a lot more to being independent

than I thought.

And so

I can't relax.

Not even for a moment.


	49. Day Sixteen: Questioning

_**Great. Hurricane Sandy is due to hit tomorrow at some point. I have no idea what to expect. *doesn't trust the media***_

_**Anywho, this is a continuation off of the fanfic **_Ouroboros_** by **_CCroquette._** I tried to mimic his/her writing style. I highly suggest you read that story first because one: it's really good (and sad), and two: this story will make a lot more sense.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTEEN: Questioning **(in case it's not obvious in the story, it's in the sense like 'questioning life' and 'questioning oneself')

_Characters: Sweden; Finland_

_Pairing(s): none, unless you really like SuFin and see it everywhere you go_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s):angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

He stares at the still body that is Finland. He doesn't know how long it's been. He stays as much as he can. He's only left once. The talk with Denmark only made him feel worse.

He didn't think it was possible.

The body on the bed stirs. Sweden's eyes sharpen. He clenches his fists in his lap.

Please, please wake up.

At the same time, he's scared.

What does he say?

What can he say?

He's a coward, and he almost leaves, but then Finland's eyes open, and he sees Sweden.

Finland's eyes are so dull.

So lifeless.

Sweden closes his eyes. He can't deal with this. But he has to. He needs to know why.

He needs to know how he can help.

But he's a coward, so he presses the button that will call the nurse down.

He doesn't speak.

Neither does Finland.

The nurse does what the nurse does. Sweden doesn't pay attention. He's scared. What does he say?

Worse, what will Finland say?

The nurse leaves. Finland has been propped up. He avoids Sweden's eyes, but that's okay, because Sweden is avoiding Finland's eyes, too.

They're both cowards.

It's quiet, and usually Sweden is fine with that, but he's with Finland, the man who is supposed to be cheery and chatty.

Apparently not.

He sighs through his nose, furrows his brow. He needs to say something. He needs to know.

Finland beats him to it.

"I'm not sorry I did it," he says.

Sweden's vision is blurred with tears.

Finland snaps his head towards Sweden, repeats, "I'm not sorry."

Sweden nods once. "I kn'w."

And he does.

Finland shakes his head. "You don't know, Sve, and that's the problem."

Sweden winces.

He forces himself to look up.

He wants to look away again.

"You don't know how it feels," Finland says. "I feel … lost. I've lived for so long, I don't want to anymore. All of those wars … All of that blood …"

Sweden stays silent.

Doesn't know what to say.

He's a coward.

"I thought it was my turn to die," Finland says.

Sweden swallows hard.

What does he say to that?

What if he throws Finland over the edge again?

What if –

What if Finland tries to –

To –

Sweden looks away, closes his eyes, hides his tears.

"What's our purpose?" Finland asks quietly.

Silence.

"Why are we here? Our people have more say than we do, so why do we exist?"

He can't answer.

He doesn't know what the answer is.

He begins to understand how Finland felt. Still feels.

Being trapped in a body for centuries –

Forced to follow a human's rules –

Not able to die –

It gets frustrating. Depressing. Lonely.

Finland just reached the breaking point, as many nations so often do.

Not Sweden.

He's never felt that low.

He hopes he never reaches that point, where he just breaks.

Finland goes to sleep.

Sweden stays, but can't look at him.

He might not have tried to kill himself, but he's still a coward.

Maybe Finland is the braver one.

Sweden buries his face in his hands. Tears drip onto his palms.

They're all still cowards.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._


	50. Day Thirty-Nine: Dreams

**DAY THIRTY-NINE: Dreams**

_Characters: Denmark; Norway_

_Pairing(s): possibly established DenNor, but they could also be seen as brothers_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/family_

OoOoOo

He tossed and turned in his sleep, brow furrowed, tears escaping from behind his closed eyelids. His breathing picked up, his hands grasped onto the blankets, his feet kicked at an unseen enemy. He moaned and whined, shaking his head every which way.

Unbeknownst to him, his housemate crept into the room. The shorter man made his way over to the bed, watching for a few minutes the anguish and pain he was going through. His housemate put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The thrashing slowed gradually, the sounds stopped. His housemate wiped away the tears and bent down to place a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave.

He blinked groggily before whipping his hand out to grab his housemate's. His housemate turned back, hesitated, then climbed into bed with him. He held his housemate to his chest, inhaled the smell from the man's hair, tried to slow his breathing. His housemate held his hand with one of his own; with the other hand, the man rubbed his arm in a comforting gesture.

He choked back a sob and leaned his forehead on the other's. "Norge …"

His housemate shushed him, held him in a half-hug, said half-heartedly, "Shut up, Dane," before leaning into the other's warmth, a couple of tears sliding down his own cheeks.


	51. Day Sixty-Eight: Hero

_**Hey all! Sorry it's been awhile. Hurricane Sandy knocked out the power for a few days, then when I got it back, I didn't have internet. Then I had school yesterday, so I was in no mood for writing.**_

_**Anyway, this is inspired by the FACE family videos on youtube by **_YumeNoSekaiPro_**, more specifically, their **_You're Perfect To Me_** video. It's sad and amazing. I highly recommend it. It's not necessary for this story, though.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY-EIGHT: Hero**

_Characters: FACE family (centering on Canada)_

_Pairing(s): possible AmeCan (can also be seen as brothers)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/family_

OoOoOo

Everyone's always fighting. Always, always, wherever he turns. Canada holds Kumajiro to his chest. The bear asks a soft, "Who?" Canada feels a tear slip down his cheek. No one remembers him. Everyone shrugs him off. No one sees him. Everyone is fighting. It's because of him. He just knows it.

France and England always fight. Their fighting got worse when Canada entered the equation. They fought for him, they fought over him, they used him. And then the fighting got so bad that France left. He left Canada with England and America.

Canada chokes back a sob. His papa left him. And then England and America started fighting more and more, too. They never fought before this. But now it's getting worse and worse. England criticizes everything America does. America talks back. They argue about everything. They forget Canada is even there. They fight when he's nearby and listening. They never acknowledge him.

And then … then America left. He left Canada with England. Alone. Canada hates that word. He hates it so much because it's all he ever is. It's all he will ever be. Alone. He tries to stay in contact with America, but England doesn't let him. England controls him and hits him when he disobeys.

All England does is drink. Most of the time, he becomes violent, and the only person there is Canada. Canada is glad he's noticed, but scared that it brings on slaps and bruises. Sometimes, England is a crying drunk, and holds onto Canada and sobs about America and "at least I have you." Canada can't bring himself to hug back.

He spends a lot of time in his room, now. He has no contact with his papa, almost no contact with America, and the only time he has contact with England is when the latter is drunk. Canada has considered suicide, but whenever he feels that low, he remembers America. He imagines what America would say. And then he'd feel better. Temporarily.

England comes in one day, drunk, and Canada braces himself. But England is in one of his crying moments, so he leans on Canada heavily and complains about America and France. Canada has had enough. He pushes England away and, holding tight to Kumajiro, runs down the hall and out of the house. He ignores angry and frustrated tears. He's done.

Canada collapses in a park. He notices that Kumajiro has a family portrait of them all. Canada sees that his bear also brought scissors. Ignoring what Kuma had been doing before all of this, Canada took the portrait and cut it into pieces. Still angry and bursting with adrenaline, he shifts his hold on the scissors and brings them down to stab his arm.

Right before impact, someone else grabs ahold of his arm and snatches away the scissors. Canada turns. He gasps. America, watery-eyed, kneels beside him. Canada leaps at America and sobs into his chest. America pets his hair, rubs his back.

America is Canada's hero.


	52. Day Sixty-Five: Horror

_**Thank you to all the new story alerts/favorites/reviews I've gotten in the past few chapters!**_

_**This one is a song!fic. The song belongs to me. I wrote it. Please don't use it/copy it/record it/whatever without my permission.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY-FIVE: Horror**

_Characters: Canada; (brief) England, America, Russia; (mentioned) Latvia_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): horror_

OoOoOo

_No one hears what I gotta say_

_They listen but they don't hear me_

_So I stop talking anyway_

_What they don't know is I'm crazy_

Canada clenched his fists. Again, he'd been looked through as if he wasn't there. Again, he'd been mistaken for his brother when he _was_ seen. _Again_, he hadn't gotten a word in during the conference. AGAIN, no one remembered him.

A glint shone in his eyes. It hit him like no other thought ever had. If no one would remember him on their own, he would _make_ them remember him. A sadistic grin adorned his face. Never again would he be forgotten. Never again would his voice go unheard. Never again … never again …

He was done playing the sweet, nice person. It was time to speak up for himself. And because his words obviously didn't have any sort of impact on his fellow countries, he'd have to rely on his actions. No matter. Actions speak louder than words, anyway, right? Canada crept out of the meeting, Germany still speaking – not like anyone noticed. But they'd notice when he did something drastic, wouldn't they?

_Don't take me seriously, it's fine_

_It's only a matter of time_

_Until my inner colors show_

_Bright colors with evil undertones_

_They will learn to fear me_

Canada went out to a nearby store and bought a pack of matches. Scenes of death and destruction flickered in his mind's eye. His heartbeat quickened in excitement. Finally, he was going to be remembered!

Walking back to the building, Canada found himself growing more and more eager to set his sudden plan into action. Yes, it was quick to come to mind, and he hadn't spent much time thinking about it, but it was well-planned. He knew it.

This was going to get him in a lot of trouble. He knew this. But this was no deterrent for him. He was ready for whatever the authorities and the countries did with him afterwards. It would all be worth it. Maybe his peers would finally take him seriously. Maybe they would actually show up to the world conference when it was located in his lands.

Or maybe they'd be too afraid to do so.

Either way, he would be remembered. And really, that's all he really wanted.

_Take a torch, set it on fire_

_Lock the doors, everyone's inside_

_Power's out, no one sees me _

_(you can look all you want)_

_Take the fire to the wall, watch it burn all the way to the other side_

_Hear the shouts, hear the screams, so pretty _

_(and yet so useless)_

The first thing Canada did when he returned to the conference building was he killed all the humans – security guards, secretaries, and whoever else was unfortunate enough to be there. Then he locked all of the main doors exiting the building from the outside. Only he had the key.

He took sticks and pebbles from outside and used them to jam the windows in all the rooms in the first four floors – just in case anyone got any ideas. He took gorilla tape from some random office and taped the windows shut as well. He wanted to make sure the other countries were actually tortured. They couldn't die, but they could burn and pass out and feel pain. Lots and lots of pain.

_Burn them all down_

_To the ground and_

_They'll pay_

_For what they've done_

Canada went to the floor above where the conference was being held. He spread printer paper from an office all over the floor, saving some paper for later. He lit a match and brought it to the paper. He watched it burn through the paper and catch fire onto surrounding objects. Canada went to the stairwell and set that one fire, as well.

He skipped the floor where the other countries were and went to the one below it. Here, he set as much on fire as he could before he had to escape to the next floor down, and then the next one, and then the next one, setting fire to the stairs he used with each descent.

Canada found the power box of the building. He grinned and chuckled. He smashed it and ripped wires out. The lights went out. He ignored the stinging in his hands. He was going to have fun while he still could.

After what seemed like forever, he finally heard the panicked screams of some of the countries. He giggled. At long last, he would be remembered.

_No one ever thinks it would be me_

_So they push me away_

_It seems like I don't have a say_

_Oh, well, I'll laugh at their pain_

Canada carefully made his way back up to where he knew the conference room was. He knew exactly which stairwells he hadn't set on fire, and which corners to avoid. But the fire had spread rapidly, so even he had to backtrack a couple of times.

He ran into America and England, literally. He fell to the ground. He grinned.

"What's wrong?" he feigned innocence. Let's see if they could figure it out.

Instead, America jumped and screamed it fear. He clung onto England. "Iggy! It's a ghost!"

Canada's amused grin faded. He might have knocked the power out, and it might have been nearing 10:00 at night, but that didn't mean it was impossible to see him. He stood up.

"Shut up, you git!" England snapped. "We have more important matters to worried about!" With that said, he dragged America down the hallway.

Canada was glad to see that they were headed towards a dead end, where the fire had spread very fast. Not that they knew that.

_Round and round the road they run_

_Tears mix with their blood_

_Close their eyes, don't see me_

_Make them remember me_

_They will learn to fear me_

Noticing how the fire was spreading much more quickly than he'd thought, Canada decided to take his leave. He slipped away and used his key to get outside. From the outside, he finally managed to see how bad the damage was.

Smoke filled the sky, covering up the moon. He could see how high the flames were. There were flames on almost every floor. He heard some of the female nations screaming. Even the male nations yelled. They were shouting in pain, in fear, calling out for other nations.

Canada was surprised when he saw a few nations chance the 90-story fall. He soon grinned when he heard the sickening snap of their bones breaking. Some other nations broke the fourth-floor windows, spreading glass everywhere, before jumping. Blood spattered the ground and the unconscious nations.

_Take a torch, set it on fire_

_Lock the doors, everyone's inside_

_Power's out, no one sees me _

_(you can look all you want)_

_Take the fire to the wall, watch it burn all the way to the other side_

_Hear the shouts, hear the screams, so pretty _

_(and yet so useless)_

Canada laughed loudly, the loudest he's ever laughed. He clutched his sides and sank to his knees, tears of happiness leaking from the corners of his eyes. His plan would make him be remembered. It was perfect! This was perfect!

_Burn them all down_

_To the ground and_

_They'll pay_

_For what they've done_

And that was when he had another idea. Nations who had made it to the first floor had finally broken some of the windows. Nations piled out of the first floor. Canada pouted for a brief second. That wasn't fun at all. But his laughter returned when he remembered his idea.

He broke off branches from nearby bushes, took twigs from the ground, and threw them into the first-floor windows. He lit several matches and threw them in after. Screams of surprise and fright reaches his ears. Canada giggled giddily. His game wasn't over yet.

_So many halls in here_

_It's just a labyrinth_

_Too bad the exits are blocked_

_Maybe they would've had a shot_

Even as nations continued to exit those first-floor windows that he couldn't get to, Canada was satisfied. Not many nations actually found their way to the first-floor. At least, not many nations compared to how many there were total. Canada's laughter didn't go unnoticed by the nations. Some of them backed away. Others glared.

It didn't faze him in the slightest. In fact, he was being seen, wasn't he? Canada dropped to the ground again, exhausted from his doings, but never did his laughter stop.

_It's kind of silly to act'lly think_

'_bout all the things I've done_

_They never saw it coming_

_Maybe that's why I find it funny_

"Mattie?" a scared voice asked.

Canada ignored his brother. After all, he'd thought Canada a ghost not too long ago. He was a bit disappointed America had survived the dead end. No matter. Canada was in the middle of laughing. He couldn't stop. This was perfect. He loved this. He loved being feared.

"Mattie, did you – did you do this?" America asked, kneeling down beside Canada. America's eyes were wide with fear and concern for his brother. He put a gloved hand on Canada's shoulder.

Canada calmed his laughter to giggles so that he could speak. "Y-yeah!" he snickered. "Y-you guys never saw it coming!"

_So maybe next time you talk down to me_

_You'll think twice, maybe save some lives_

_It would be such a shame_

_If you learned nothing from the game_

_You need to learn: fear me_

America helped Canada stand up. "Mattie, why would you do this?" he asked, surprisingly serious.

Canada grinned wider. "No one ever remembered me." He chuckled. "Well, you remember me now, don't you?" He turned to the large crowd of nations. "_Don't you_? Huh? You know who I am? I'm _Canada_! Put _that_ in your –"

"Mattie, stop!" America put an arm around Canada. He began to lead Canada away. "You're sick, Mattie. You need help."

Canada only laughed. "I'm more alive than I've ever felt before! You know why? Because no one will ever forget me ever again!"

"Let's go, Mattie," America said solemnly. Canada offered no resistance.

_Take a torch, set it on fire_

_Lock the doors, everyone's inside_

_Power's out, no one sees me _

_(you can look all you want)_

_Take the fire to the wall, watch it burn all the way to the other side_

_Hear the shouts, hear the screams, so pretty _

_(and yet so useless)_

_Burn it all down_

_To the ground and_

_They'll pay_

_For what they've done_

Russia watched from beside the broken body of Latvia, nursing his broken wrist but ignoring the blood pouring from a cut on his forehead. He smiled.

"I always wondered when poor Канада would snap," he pondered. He tilted his head. "Maybe now I can talk negotiations with him, да?"

OoOoOo

_**Yeahhh … I like snapped!Canada. As for the song, I was having a bad day. I'm better now. Come on, you can't tell me you haven't had those off days where you write something like this (story, song, poem, whatever) to feel better. **_

_**Translations (although they should be obvious):**_

Канада = _**Canada (Russian)**_

Да = _**yes (Russian)**_

_**Review please!**_


	53. Day Ninety-Three: Give Up

_**I was craving some DenNor, and just to prove to everyone that I DO support this pairing (I just like NorIce more), I wanted to write something. I guess I thought about it too much because I had a dream last night. When I woke up and was still groggy, I came up with more details. So, ta-da!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-THREE: Give Up**

_Characters: Norway; Denmark; (mentioned) Russia_

_Pairing(s): DenNor; implied nonconsensual RusNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

He was always just lying there, with his back to the door and his face towards the window. But his eyes never showed any signs of life. They were dull and empty, even less emotion than they would normally hold. He only ever moved to go to the bathroom, when the sun was in his face, or when Denmark forced him to eat.

And the nightmares. He thrashed around from the nightmares whenever he fell asleep. So he always tried not to sleep. But even a nation can't fight it off. He'd let his eyelids droop by accident, and then in no time, he was dreaming. They weren't pleasant dreams. They involved fear, torture, penetration, and a certain Russian man.

He'd wake up on his own sometimes, gasping for breath, knuckles white as his fingers grasped the bed sheets. He'd feel the ghost of the pain he'd endured in his anus, on his penis, all over his chest and arms and legs and wherever else he'd been touched or hit. Then he'd remember – he wasn't there anymore. There wasn't anymore blood to wash off. So he'd force himself to relax and settle down into the same motionless position he stayed in.

Other times, Denmark would wake up – he always slept in the same room – or come running. Denmark would gently shake him awake, learning early on that shouting only caused more fear. And in those few minutes before he succumbed to numbness, Denmark would see the utter terror in his eyes. Denmark hated how much pain he was in, but he was also glad to see that Norway was not completely gone.

Denmark stayed as much as he could with Norway. He talked about everything and nothing to Norway as a way to calm his own fear – that the old Norway wasn't coming back. Occasionally, he'd risk lying beside Norway and holding him, petting his hair, kissing his neck and cheeks and nose and everywhere appropriate he could. At first, Norway would stiffen, but over the weeks, he'd grown used to Denmark's presence. Denmark hoped this meant Norway would get better.

He was always afraid that Norway would think he didn't care. Or that Norway would think himself to be of no importance. Denmark may act cocky a lot, but that didn't mean he was stupid. He knew what victims or torture and rape thought. He knew that many of them attempted suicide. He didn't want this to happen to his Norway. So every once in a while, he'd throw in a sentence asserting how he wasn't going to leave Norway:

"I'll wait as long as I have to."

"I'm not giving up on you."

"You're so important to me; I just want you back."

"We'll get through this."

"I love you."

One day, as Denmark rambled on, something deep within Norway's eyes flickered. It was brief, and Denmark nearly missed it, but it brought hope to him. A few minutes later, a tear fell down Norway's cheek. Then another one followed, with another one chasing it. And soon Norway was quietly crying, no change in his movements or face. Denmark stopped talking.

He leaned in and pecked Norway on the nose, a few tears slipping down his own face. He tried to smile, but found he wasn't able to. He shifted a bit so that he could hold Norway's face to his chest. Denmark petted Norway's hair, ignoring his own crying.

"This is good, Norway," he said. He took a breath. "It means you're healing. Just … keep crying as long as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

He wasn't leaving. For once in his life, Norway needed him, so Denmark was going to do everything he could. He refused to let down his Norway. He would help Norway through this, no matter what, and no matter how long it took. Because that's what you do for the one that you love.

OoOoOo

_**In my headcannon, Denmark is kind of clingy to people. So when Norway checks out, he's losing it, too.**_

_**I also see him as being really sweet and cheesy, the latter of which didn't come into this story. I just wanted to share that bit of information.**_

_**He's also a big teddy bear. Except when he has his axe. Watch out Russia. As soon as Norway's better …**_

_**Review! Like it? Hate it? Which oneshot do you like the best so far? Is there anything in particular you want to read? (genre, characters, a continuation of something I've done?)**_


	54. Day Eleven: Memories

_**I'm not so proud of this one. I'm currently sidetracked with another fanfiction, but I wanted to update the Challenge.**_

_**Yes, it's another one-sided conversation. I'm lazy. Deal with it.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY ELEVEN: Memories**

_Characters: Canada; America; (mentioned) Russia_

_Pairing(s): implied RusCan_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family/drama_

OoOoOo

Hello. Can I help you?

I'm sorry, do I know you?

America? Who?

You must be mistaken. I don't have a brother.

What are you talking about? I'm fine.

Huh? Those? Those are nothing.

What? No. He loves me! How dare you say such a thing!

He does! He does, he does, he does! Now leave before I call him down here!

Don't call him that! He's nice and caring and he loves me!

What? No, I don't remember anything before him. He's all I know.

No, he saved me. He told me so.

I have no reason to not trust him.

He does it to protect me!

Stop saying things you know nothing about!

Hey, let go of me!

I don't even know you!

No, stop, he loves me, he loves me, he loves –

Wh-why'd you hit me?

Stop it, stop it, stop it! He loves me! Leave me alone!

I don't have a brother! Shut up!

Leave me alone!

I belong to Russia!

No, he didn't! He loves me! He saved me! He helped me!

Russia! _Russia!_

Let go of me! _Russia!_

Leave me alone, you stupid capitalist pig!

He hasn't done anything to me! Stop saying he has!

I love him, I love him, I love him!

Shut up!

Go away!

Just because I don't remember anything from before doesn't mean I'm wrong!

SHUT UP! You don't know anything!

Let go of me … please, let go …

You're hurting me …

…

I just want to go back.

Take me back to Russia.


	55. Day One: Frown

**DAY ONE: Frown**

_Characters: guess (although it's pretty obvious, I think)_

_Pairing(s): none … although I suppose you could take it that way_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): poetry/family_

OoOoOo

Hey.

Hey, Iggy.

Stop frowning. _Please_.

It hurts so much.

Why don't you smile anymore?

I miss your smile, Iggy. Really.

All you ever do is frown now.

Most of the time, you frown at _me_.

Did I do something wrong? What did I say?

I haven't seen you smile since I was a child.

I feel like it's my fault, somehow. Is it, Iggy?

Was it the war? Because I still love you.

I still need you in my life, Iggy.

I hate how you only ever frown.

It _is_ my fault, isn't it?

If I wasn't so stupid.

If I wasn't loud.

Maybe you'd care.

Please, Iggy.

_Smile_.


	56. Day Six: Break Away

**DAY SIX: Break Away**

_Characters: Nordics_

_Pairing(s): none unless you squint_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst/family_

OoOoOo

They were all together. They were all a part of the Kalmar Union.

And then Sweden broke away.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't taken Finland with him.

That was two gone. Two who had defied his power. Two who had taken a piece of his soul away with them.

Then Norway left.

He tried to get rid of Iceland instead. Norway was his best friend. His _only_ friend.

Norway left anyway.

He didn't understand. He _couldn't_ understand.

So he took it out on Iceland.

Eventually, Iceland left, too.

And then he was all alone.

Each breakaway was no easier than the last.

They'd left him all alone.


	57. Day Two: Love

_**I've been craving DenNor. This was written as a result of two things. One: a story called 'Neckties and Kisses.' Seriously, now THAT is a good DenNor fic. Two: On tumblr, someone blogged a headcanon of how Norway is a slutty drunk. I agree.**_

_**This is my attempt to put these two things together.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWO: Love**

_Characters: Denmark; Norway_

_Pairing(s): DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/romance_

OoOoOo

They'd had a fight, for the first time in … how many years had it been? Norway felt awful and lonely. Contrary to popular belief, Norway and Denmark did not spend all of their time fighting. In fact, if the other nations would care to remember, they were in love and married.

So, Norway felt awful and lonely.

The other nations knew that Denmark drank on a daily basis. What they didn't know is that when he was upset, he actually _wouldn't_ drink. Instead, Norway would be the one who would get wasted.

And so that's how Norway found himself rummaging through the house, trying to find where Denmark hid all the alcohol. As soon as he'd grabbed as many as he could, he sat in a chair and drank. It wasn't long before he couldn't tell up from down. He mumbled incoherently in Norwegian.

That was when Denmark returned.

Denmark entered the room and, seeing Norway, went to apologize … only, he noticed the empty bottles scattered across the floor. He frowned.

"How much have you been drinking, Norge?" he asked.

Norway stood up, stumbled over to Denmark, and kissed him sloppily. Feeling Norway get more aggressive, Denmark gently pushed him away. Norway slid his hands under Denmark's shirt and pressed their bodies together.

Denmark gulped. "Norge, what are you doing?"

Norway tweaked a nipple. Denmark stifled a gasp.

"Norge, stop." He gently removed Norway's hands and stepped away. "You're drunk."

Indeed he was, so Norway began unbuttoning his own shirt. "You know you want it."

Denmark forced himself to stay put. He wouldn't take advantage of Norway like that. Unfortunately, in staying still and not putting a stop to the show, Norway unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans after a bit of fumbling.

Denmark couldn't let his husband do this. He grabbed Norway's wrists gently, stopping him from doing anything further. Denmark did his best to ignore how Norway's chest was exposed, despite the fact he hadn't completely removed the shirt. This was a hard feat indeed.

"Stop it," Denmark said gently. "You should go lie down. You'll have a horrible hangover later."

Norway tried to free his wrists, to no avail. "But you want it. You want _me_. You know you do."

Despite his sultry tone, Denmark could hear the pleading behind Norway's words. He kissed Norway's nose but backed away before Norway could initiate a full makeout session.

"I love you, Norge," Denmark told him. "No matter what we fight about, I'll always love you."

Norway leaned his head on Denmark. "I love you, too."


	58. Day Sixty-Six: Traps

_**This is another part of the 'Blood' series. Here's the order to read them in:**_

_**Breathe Again**_

_**I Can't**_

_**Traps**_

_**Blood**_

_**I have two more planned out for this miniseries. I also plan on putting this miniseries as a separate story eventually so others may read it.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY-SIX: Traps**

_Characters: Nordics_

_Pairing(s): none unless you go looking for them_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/family_

OoOoOo

It isn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be him and Finland. No one else. Finland – Finland _promised_. But he _lied_. Iceland sits on the edge of the couch, hands clutching onto his knees. Denmark and Sweden sit across from him. Finland and Norway sit on either side of him. They all stare at him intently.

Finland told them that he has something to say.

He doesn't want to say the real thing. He can't, just like he can't stop the bleeding, the cutting, the pain. He can't, and he won't. But if he lies to them, Finland will tell them. And then … then what? What will happen?

He doesn't want to tell them, but he doesn't want to lie, either. So he stays silent. He glares at the ground, imagines that he is glaring at Finland instead. It's all Finland's fault that he's … that he's trapped.

Finland sighs, almost too quietly for anyone to hear. But for once, everyone is silent – Finland made them listen. Iceland wishes they were loud, like usual, so they wouldn't hear what he knows is going to come out of Finland's mouth.

"You guys, Iceland is cutting himself," he hears Finland say. He then hears the entire room gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Norway bury his face in his hands. Sweden tenses, the only noticeable difference. Denmark gapes openly.

He needs to fix this. This, this is all wrong. They think there's something wrong with him, but there really isn't. He needs to make it clear to them that he's fine. "It's not a big deal," he says, tries to write it off as nothing.

Denmark is angry. "You think that cutting yourself isn't a big deal?" he shouts. Iceland flinches, tries to hide it, grips his knees tighter, continues glaring at the floor. "You –"

"C'n w' s'e?" Sweden interrupts. Iceland pauses. He removes his gloves and places them beside him. He rolls up his sleeves just enough so the cuts on his wrists are more visible. Silence.

"I tried to help," Finland tells the others. "But he won't listen to me. And besides, you guys deserved to know."

Sweden studies his scars. Denmark looks away, despite his best efforts not to. Finland has seen them enough and can't bear to see them again – he focuses on Sweden instead. Norway lifts his head – Iceland can see his look of utter despair on his usually blank face, feels his heart sink – and traces the scars with a finger.

"Why?" Sweden asks.

"You don't understand," Iceland says weakly.

Norway looks at him, the first time since Finland told everyone. Iceland is frightened by how open his face and eyes are. "What did we do?"

Startled, Iceland looks up at Norway. Once their eyes are connected, he can't look away. "Huh?"

Norway holds Iceland's hand. "How did we push you to this?" he demands. "What did we do? What did _I_ do? Iceland, what can we do to fix this?"

Angry, Iceland rips his hand from Norway's grip. "I don't need to be fixed! I'm perfectly fine!"

"Stop saying that!" Denmark yelled. "You're hurting yourself. Just tell us what to do!"

Iceland's chest constricts. He can't breathe, he can't think. Tears try to fall onto his cheeks; he has to work to keep them in his eyes. He needs a release. He needs to breathe. He can't breathe, he needs to breathe, he can't think – He presses his nails into his wrist until blood is drawn, but in doing so he loses his concentration on his tears, so they fall, too – and he's so vulnerable and weak and it's not supposed to be like this why won't they leave him alone –

Finland gently pries his hands apart. Iceland can think a little more clearly but not very much so, and he can breathe a little better but not much so, and he still needs release and he still needs to breathe and he needs something sharp, now now now –

He stands up. He needs to get away, go somewhere he can cut, where he can bleed and free himself and breathe. Norway spins him around with strength Iceland didn't know the man has. Norway is worried, he can tell, and he feels so bad and useless and stupid and he needs the physical pain it's so much better than this, this emotional pain, at least he can control the physical –

"Iceland, talk to us," Norway says calmly. Too calmly, too calmly, can't he see that Iceland can't breathe? "What are you feeling? What's wrong?"

And he has to tell them because otherwise they won't understand and they won't let him go and he has to tell them. "I-I need it," he sobs, breathless. "I-I can't … I can't breathe. I need it, _please_, Norway, I _need it_." He knows he's begging but it's bad bad bad.

Norway's crying. Maybe he understands? "No, you don't need it," he says, voice shaking. Then, more firmly, "You don't need it."

Iceland tries to reopen the wounds with his nails, but Norway holds them apart. Denmark has gotten up and is standing behind him, and Finland and Sweden are watching him closely, and he's _trapped_ and he needs to get out and he _needs to breathe_.

"We're here, Icey," Denmark says, serious, for once. "Talk to us."

"Let it out," Finland says softly. "Cry, yell, whatever you need to do, just … don't hurt yourself."

He's starting to calm down … but … he doesn't understand he shouldn't be able to breathe the physical pain the knife it's supposed to help but … but … his mind's starting to clear. Maybe … maybe he'll be okay this time …

"I need it," Iceland pleads halfheartedly, but he's calmed down.

And that's when he realizes – he doesn't need it. He calmed down on his own, with the help of his family. He … he doesn't understand. But then, he does understand, at the same time.

He looks at Norway. "Big brother … I need help." His voice cracks, but it's okay, because Norway pulls him into a hug, and soon Denmark is hugging him and then Finland is and then Sweden reluctantly joins in.

He's trapped again, in the middle of the hug, but maybe being trapped isn't a bad thing.


	59. Day Forty: Rated

_**I couldn't resist doing this. This is a human!AU.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY: Rated**

_Characters: teen!America; England_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family_

OoOoOo

Alfred bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet. Arthur smiled at his antics as he waited their turn in line. Finally, they reached the window. Arthur bought the two tickets for the movie, presented his ID, and motioned for Alfred to follow him into the theater. After a bit of pleading and whining, Arthur gave in and bought a bowl of popcorn and a soda for Alfred.

The theater was empty except for the two of them. The movie had been out for awhile, and it was 11:00 in the morning, so no one wanted to see this movie. While waiting for the previews to start, Arthur turned to Alfred.

"Now, if this gets too scary for you, just tell me and we'll leave," he said.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna get scared! I'm fourteen!"

Arthur wasn't so sure. This was Alfred's first rated-R movie. Arthur hadn't wanted to let Alfred watch the movie, but he'd rather that he went with Alfred than Alfred sneak off with friends. Not to mention, Alfred was going to be exposed to rated-R movies eventually. Arthur was just worried about how Alfred would react to some of the scenes. After all, the kid already got nightmares from certain PG-13 movies.

The previews started. Just from watching one of the more violent previews, Alfred jumped. Arthur was already seriously regretting coming to this movie. Maybe Alfred wasn't ready for something this violent.

Throughout the movie, Arthur kept a close eye on Alfred. Some of the louder scenes, which scared Arthur, terrified Alfred. One particular scene was violent and gory. Arthur rubbed Alfred's arm in comfort. Alfred clung to Arthur. As the movie went on, Alfred turned his face into Arthur's shoulder. Arthur held him. He was glad they were the only ones in the theater.

Alfred said shakily, "I want to leave." Arthur led the boy out of the theater and to their car.

"You okay?" he asked.

Alfred sat in shotgun, holding himself. "Y-yeah …"

Arthur grinned lightly as he started up the car. "No more rated-R movies until you're seventeen." Alfred didn't complain.

OoOoOo

_**I don't know if people under 17 can go see rated-R movies in the theater (I mean, with an adult). I tried to find out and got mixed answers.**_

_**I couldn't choose whether or not to make Arthur be Alfred's brother or father, so it's up to you how you see it.**_


	60. Day Eighty-Four: Out Cold

**DAY EIGHTY-FOUR: Out Cold**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none, unless you take it that way_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort (without the comfort)_

OoOoOo

You're back again, just like you always are. He's sitting on the couch, a bottle in his hand. You enter the room. He stands up, stumbles over to you, smashes the bottle into your arm.

You don't cry out. It only makes him angrier. Besides, it's your fault anyway. If you hadn't left, if you hadn't yelled at him, if you'd only listened to him, then he wouldn't be like this.

Better you than your brother, who went through this before you returned. You supported his independence, so maybe he could get away from it all. Your brother is scared of him and is distrustful of you. You don't blame your brother. It's your fault, anyway.

Even though you have your independence, you still go back to him. You don't know why. Maybe it's to try and help him get better. As punch after punch and kick after kick makes contact with your body, you curl up into a ball and push back tears. You shouldn't be crying. It's your fault he's like this.

Your hat has fallen to the ground. Some of your hair has come loose from your barrette. But you can still see the sadistic glee and anger on his face.

Why do you come back?

He's out cold now and it's your fault. It's always been your fault, and you know it. Instead of running away, of getting help, you clean the blood on his hands and cover him up with a blanket – it's winter and you don't want him getting a cold. You place a hand on his cheek, watch him for a few minutes.

When did he become this monster? Why didn't you stop him?

It's all your fault. So it's your job to fix him. Somehow.


	61. Day Fifty: Breaking the Rules

_**I felt like throwing up while writing this. WHAT did I just write …? *hides***_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY: Breaking the Rules**

_Characters: pedo!Spain;(mentioned) chibi!Romano_

_Pairing(s): onesided Spain/chibi!Romano_

_Rated: __**T (I'm saying it's very high T though, due to some images, pedophilia, and language)**_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

Spain knew it was wrong. So very, very wrong. And disgusting and sick and, damn it all, there was something very, very wrong with him.

The scary thing was, he was slowly learning not to care.

Every day, he watched his henchman, a child, with eyes filled with lust.

Every day, he imagined kissing his Romano, the yells of ecstasy, the tightness of Romano's hole around his cock or his fingers.

Every day, he jacked off in the bathroom while picturing it was Romano's hand, not his.

Every day, he felt like this towards Romano. Every. Fucking. Day.

And he knew it was wrong, so very, very wrong. And he knew it was sick and disgusting and he should go to jail for it, and that this was breaking so many rules …

But he was learning not to care.

A scary thought, indeed.


	62. Day Twenty-Four: No Time

_**This idea came from another headcanon over on tumblr: "Hong Kong collects snow globes since he doesn't tend to get actual snow." Somehow, that brought me to this.**_

_**I apologize in advance for the overuse of Norway's lines from the anime …**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY-FOUR: No Time**

_Characters: Hong Kong; Iceland; (mentioned-but-not-really) Norway_

_Pairing(s): slight HongIce_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): romance (but really, there needs to be a 'fluff' category)_

OoOoOo

Hong Kong felt ridiculous. Iceland had forced him into a thick jacket and boots, along with a hat and gloves. He'd never had to wear so many layers at once. One look in the mirror showed how utterly fat he looked.

He turned to Iceland, face deadpan, "No."

Iceland allowed a sly grin to grace his lips. "Come on," he said, taking a note from Norway's book. "Please?"

Hong Kong exhaled through his nose and turned back to the mirror. Iceland slid up behind him, wrapping his arms around Hong Kong's waist. He placed his chin on Hong Kong's shoulder. They stood in silence for another minute.

"You know you want to," Iceland teased, eyes twinkling in amusement.

Hong Kong thought about his place, where it almost never snowed. Okay, he was pretty sure he'd never seen snow. Well, outside the numerous snow globes he collected. And he was positive those didn't count.

So, maybe he did want to. But he should have never told Iceland. And Iceland should have never brought him here.

"I don't …" Hong Kong trailed off.

Iceland grinned slightly. "There's no time like the present."

Hong Kong inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. Again.

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly.

When Iceland led him outside, to where there were maybe nine inches of snow on the ground – and snowflakes still falling from the sky – Hong Kong's spirits brightened. There had always been something about snow that had drawn him in, fascinated him, intrigued him.

He looked over at Iceland.

Maybe that's why he'd fallen in love with the nation.


	63. Day Forty-Five: Illusion

**DAY FORTY-FIVE: Illusion**

_Characters: Nordics_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

All of them wear masks. It's an illusion they keep up for protection. It's not hard to make one.

Sweden's really a softy. But he's been hurt so much in the past, he doesn't want to let anyone in. One time, he lost it completely and hurt his friends and himself. He never wants to see or feel that hurt again, so he tries not to feel anything.

Denmark is afraid to be alone. But he's a man, and a former Viking, and he's already lost his family once – he's not letting them go again. As long as he acts dumb, none of them will notice, not even when he clings onto them for dear life.

Norway has a social phobia. He's shy and afraid of being judged. But he doesn't want to be laughed at, so he's learned how to snap short responses. He doesn't want to be around others, but he doesn't want to be alone, either. He tries so hard to stay calm.

Iceland is very sensitive and vulnerable. He's been a part of other countries for so long, and no one takes him seriously. He's afraid of fading and failing his people. He hides it behind his short temper and blames it on being in the body of a teenager.

Finland holds a grudge against anyone who has done him wrong. He hates how he'd looked down on and how people believe he's weak. He hides his possibly murderous intentions; Russia has taught him a thing or two about smiling.

All of them wear masks. It's just seeing through them that's hard.


	64. Day Thirteen: Misfortune

_**Okay, so this is actually directly from my life. I applied it to one of the characters in Hetalia, although because this is all me, it's probably near impossible to guess who it is.**_

_**Here's a hint: I call myself this character in real life. Another hint: The answer may or may not be somewhere on my profile page.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY THIRTEEN: Misfortune**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

You have the misfortune of instinctively seeing beyond the norm. You see things differently. That's all. You don't see the literal. You see what's beyond that. You see deeper than anyone else does. You can take a quote and look so deep inside it that you come up with an abstract meaning. Meanwhile, everyone else agrees on the most literal sense, and you're left with strange looks.

When you watch movies with friends, they always comment on the actors. If your friends are guys, they comment on the hot women. If your friends are girls, they comment on the sexy men. You comment on crappy acting skills, or on cliché plotlines. Your friends always give you strange looks for that one.

Your friends also don't see the beauty in art. In a painting, they see the obvious scene. You see the texture, the hard work put into it, the sadness or anger or happiness. You see the true meaning, or at least _your_ interpretation of the work. Your friends comment on naked statues or paintings in vulgar ways. You comment on the art and beauty. You're pretty sure your friends think you're gay.

When someone brought up mental disorders in a world meeting to widen awareness, clips from movies or just people talking about disorders were shown. Everyone laughed at the repetitive actions of people with OCD, at the sudden changes of a young woman with dissociative identity disorder, at a teenager who has a social anxiety disorder.

You don't. You glared at everyone else. You didn't see the obvious actions of the people in the videos. You saw the pain and the fear and the embarrassment they hid. You've always believed you had one of the disorders, and in an attempt to stop the laughter, whispered it to one of his supposed friends. Said "friend" disagreed with you and laughed even further.

You're more open to the abstract than other people are. Gay rights, for instance. A lot of people you know either are against gays or support gay marriage, as long as they're not involved. You, on the other hand, strongly support gay marriage, for you can see the pain and the fear the gays have to face in society. Why should they have to hide who they are? Why aren't they equal to 'straight' people? It isn't fair.

You even discovered a whole new section of people. Asexuals. Aromantics. And a whole load of others that you can't remember the names for. And then you realize that these people are even more scared to come out, and you feel for them. They aren't even widely known. They aren't even believed by their friends and family when they come out. And you want to help, somehow, because you see behind the obvious – they need rights, too. They _should_ have rights.

You feel alone in the world because it seems like you are different from everyone else, maybe in a bad way. You tried to fit in with them, tried to see the literal, but you can't help but see the abstract first. You feel the emotion and see the greater picture. Everyone else seems to see the literal, and won't allow you to have your own opinion.

You try to stand up for what you see, for what you believe, but you just keep getting looks. So you close your eyes and imagine somewhere else, something else. You daydream a different world, two, three other places, where you can say whatever you want and people listen. You drown out the literal reality and sink into your abstract mind.

You have the misfortune of seeing beyond what's seen, and don't know what to do with it.


	65. Day Seventy: 67

_**This can also be known as: Dial-Up Sucks.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SEVENTY: 67%**

_Characters: America_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

67%

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

67%

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

67%

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

67%

_Ugggghhhh …_

67%

_Omnomnom._

67%

_Squeaaaak. Squeeaaaaak._

67%

"Why is this taking so freaking lonnnngggg?"

67%

_Click. Click. Clickclickclick. Click…Click._

67%

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptap._

68%

"YES!"

_Ring! Ring!_

"DON'T PICK UP THE PHONE!"

…

…

0%

…

…

…

"#&$# (%$* #)%$#(&% (%&! My GAME!"

OoOoOo

_**This has totally happened to you. If not, or you don't know what this is, THIS *sweeps hand at drabble* is what happened in the dark ages, when we had *gasp* DIAL-UP COMPUTERS!**_


	66. Day Thirty-Eight: Abandoned

**DAY THIRTY-EIGHT: Abandoned**

_Characters: guess the main; (mentioned) England_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): angst/poetry_

OoOoOo

What did I do?

What did I ever do to you, jerk England?

What did I do that pushed you away?

What did I do that made you hate me,

made me hate you?

You're my brother, my father;

You're my everything

and you're nothing.

You created me, in a sense,

but so did others,

so why is it you whose attention I crave?

You call me a brat, a child.

Have you forgotten that I was born in war?

Have you forgotten that I lost my innocence

the moment I started my existence?

Have you ever thought that I pretend

to be the child I appear to be

in the hopes of getting something that I never had?

Have you forgotten all the pain I went through?

Have I forgotten what it's like to just exist?

Is there a reason I was abandoned?

Does no one love me?

I don't care about being a country;

I just want your attention.

Just tell me –

What did I do to make you hate me,

make me hate you?


	67. Day Forty-Seven: Creation

_**We've been learning about disorders in my psychology class. I might have said that already previously … Anyway, we watched "A Beautiful Mind," and I was inspired to write this. I am aware that schizophrenia is usually hearing voices, but hallucinations are still possible, so … yeah.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-SEVEN: Creation**

_Characters: Norway; Iceland_

_Pairing(s): none (although you can see NorIce if you want)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/drama_

OoOoOo

Norway sat stiffly in his chair, trying desperately to make eye contact with his brother, who refused to meet his gaze. Norway clenched and unclenched his hands. The white fabric he'd been forced into itched, but he didn't dare scratch at his skin. His leg bounced erratically. The silence between then, the tension in the air, it was too much for him. He licked his lips once, then again, before taking an audible breath.

"I'm not crazy."

Iceland flinched in surprise. His eyes traced designs in the table. He shrugged. Norway watched him intensely, seemingly ready to bolt at any second.

"I know."

Norway leaned forward the slightest bit, searching his brother's face. His fringe fell into his eyes – his pin had been taken away – but he ignored it. He licked his lips once, twice. He inhaled, exhaled. Then again. He closed his eyes, pushing back frustrated tears.

"You don't believe me."

Iceland didn't say anything, only stared at the table, an unreadable expression on his face. Norway opened his eyes and tried once more to make eye contact. He opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips.

"I'm not crazy," he said hoarsely.

Finally, Iceland looked up. Norway refused to let his brother look away. It was then that he realized that Iceland's eyes were watering, and that his lower lip was trembling.

"You're sick."

Norway took a shuddering breath. He shook his head.

"No. I'm not. They're real."

He licked his lips. He clenched his hands, open and closed, open and closed. He searched Iceland's eyes for sympathy.

"I know it. They hide from everyone, but they trust me."

Iceland's eyes narrowed. A strong fire lit up in them. Norway bounced his leg.

"Norway, no. They're not real." Iceland paused before saying in resignation. "You're sick, brother."

Norway widened his eyes, urging his brother to understand.

"No, I'm not! Why don't you believe me?"

"They're not real!" Iceland snapped.

Norway shot to his feet, startling Iceland. He walked forward three steps, shook his head, turned, and walked three more steps. He pulled a shaking hand through his hair. He turned again, facing his brother.

"Yes they are."

He shook his head, walked two more steps. He licked his lips. He pointed an accusing finger at Iceland.

"Who's to say _you're_ not real, huh? What if you're the figment of my imagination?"

Iceland stood up and approached Norway. Norway stumbled backwards.

"I'm real, Norway."

Norway flinched when a cold hand touched his cheek.

"Feel this?"

Iceland grabbed Norway's hand and brought it to his chest. Norway felt the pounding of his brother's heart under his palm.

"Feel this? _I'm_ real. Nothing else. No one else."

Norway's lips trembled as he scrambled to think of a response. He shook his head, his eyes looking to the side, at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere that wasn't Iceland. Tears dripped down his cheeks, some of them landing on his brother's hand, which hadn't left its place. Norway tried to back away. Iceland followed him. He forced Norway to look at him.

"You're sick. I'm sorry I didn't know before, but I'm here now. I'll help you get better – but you have to _let_ me."

Hesitantly, Norway brought his free hand up to the hand on his cheek. He slowly moved his hand down his brother's arm, over his shoulder, over his pulse point in his neck, and finished by cupping Iceland's cheek. It was then that Norway saw the fear and love in Iceland's eyes. Norway lowered his head, letting his hair hide his face. He saw his friends – no, his creations, his illusions – out of the corner of his eyes and shuffled closer to his brother.

"Help me," his voice cracked. "Show me what's real."


	68. Day Twenty-Seven: Foreign

**DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Foreign**

_Characters: guess (hint: they're brothers)_

_Pairing(s): incest, that's all I'm saying_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): romance_

OoOoOo

The first time they'd kissed, they'd both been drunk out of their minds. It had been a party of some sort, and somehow they had gotten drunk against their wills. Of course, by the time they couldn't tell up from down, they didn't really care anymore. And somehow, in some way, they'd ended up kissing.

It was sloppy and wet and not at all what either of them had imagined. But it wasn't like how a kiss between brothers felt like. It felt foreign, but in a good way. They found that their lips meshed perfectly. Tongues prodded at lips, at teeth, all over the inside of the other's mouth.

And just like that, it was over. They never spoke of it again.

OoOoOo

The second time they'd kissed, it had been Valentine's Day. Both of them had been single, so no chocolates or flowers were given away. They'd decided to spend the day together – a couple of sad, lonely brothers in an empty house. They'd sat on the couch, perhaps sitting a bit too close, and watched the current romance movie that was on.

One particularly steamy scene had both brothers turned on. It only took a quick glance at each other for them to attack each other's lips. It was lustful and desperate and hungry. Nothing more, nothing less.

Once the scene had moved on, so had they. They refused to meet each other's gaze for a week.

OoOoOo

The third time they'd kissed, it was after a particularly bad day. They'd gotten together after the world meeting – another useless event – and went back to their hotel. They took turns in the shower, and it was then that they let loose their emotions.

Their lips met for the third time. The kiss was soft, caring, full of desire. It wasn't just the kiss this time, either. This time, hands tugged at hair, at belt buckles, at hips. This time, it wasn't just their lips touching. It was much, much more. Their bodies became one.

And it was this time that they dared breathe each other's names. They knew it was wrong, but they didn't care. Two of the coldest countries' kisses heated their bodies with strong passion and desire. Who were they to fight it?


	69. Day Twenty-Nine: Happiness

**DAY TWENTY-NINE: Happiness**

_Characters: Sweden; (mentioned) Finland_

_Pairing(s): SuFin_

_Rated: K_

_Genre(s): romance_

Sweden laid awake on the bed, Finland curled up beside him. He stared at the ceiling while listening to the even breathing of his wife.

He would have never thought that he'd get so lucky as to marry someone like Tino, especially after all those years of suffering. He'd been a bloodthirsty Viking, an unwilling member of the Kalmar Union, a psychotic warrior … And Finland had stuck with him through it all.

He'd taken an interest in Finland, and at first had believed it was simply for friendship. But over the centuries, Sweden had discovered that his feelings lied deeper, and thus began trying to court the man. Unfortunately, Russia had come along, and things between the Finn and the Swede hadn't been the same until after World War II.

And yet somehow, in some way, Berwald had managed to woo Tino.

He'd been a Viking, searching for the missing piece of himself. He'd taken over various lands in the hopes of gaining something – what, he wasn't sure.

But as Sweden laid in bed, with Finland curled into his side, he realized what it was he'd needed all along.

Berwald lowered his face into Tino's hair, taking in the scent. He grinned slightly as his eyes closed.

_This_ was true happiness.


	70. Day Eighty-Nine: Through the Fire

**DAY EIGHTY-NINE: Through the Fire**

_Character(s): guess (don't worry – this one's obvious)_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): tragedy  
_

OoOoOo

It's burning! It's burning! It's hot and he can't breathe and – He's burning! He's dying!

There's a fire, he's on fire, and it hurts and he's scared – He's dying, he's dying!

He's alone, like always. He curls into a ball and hides his face in his knees, waiting for the inevitable – he's going to die. He hides his tears and the darkness of his face. He trembles in fear and pain – He's dying, he's dying!

His body wracks with pain and burning that only he can feel. He inhales smoke and feels the heat of the fire. He pushes himself as far into the wall as he can. It hurts, he's scared, he hurts, he's scared.

He won't leave, even though he knows he can. He's nothing but a fort – a stupid, stupid little fort – so he could jump into the ocean. But he's still dying, so he'll let his body be burned on the outside, too.

It's burning, he's burning, and he wishes his brother would save him. But he's stuck on his own, waiting for his premature death.


	71. Day Eighty-Three: Heal

_**I'm back with another installment of the 'Blood' series! Here's the suggested order that you read them in:**_

_**Breathe Again**_

_**I Can't**_

_**Traps**_

_**Heal**_

_**Blood**_

_**There is one more planned for this miniseries. And then you don't have to think 'ugh, ANOTHER one of these?' Because I have the feeling that's what you guys are thinking.**_

_**Also, I'm making a 'Table of Contents' kind of thing for my 100-Day Challenge. It's composed of the Word/phrase, the characters, the rating, the genres, and summary of each of the chapters (so far). Do you want me to upload that when I'm finished writing the challenge, or ASAP? I'm making it for you guys, so whatever you say, goes.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-THREE: Heal**

_Character(s): Iceland; Norway; (mentioned) other Nordics_

_Pairing(s): none (unless you decide to see NorIce)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/family_

OoOoOo

He slipped up, because that's what he does. He's useless and stupid and unwanted. He hadn't cut in two weeks, thanks to the careful watchfulness of the other Nordics – of his family. Whenever he couldn't breathe, one of them was always there to talk him through it. He told them what he was feeling, what thoughts went on in his head. He thought he was getting better.

And then he slipped up.

It isn't his fault. It's theirs. All their fault. They aren't there. Why aren't they there? He needs them – bad. But he's alone. Forgotten. And those are the words that spur on his cutting. He can't breathe, and it's bad – the worst it's been in a while. He tries to talk out his feelings to himself, but it only makes him feel worse, makes it even more difficult to breathe. His cell phone is in his pocket, so he can call someone – but if they don't pick up, he'll feel even worse.

So he picks up the razor and slices his skin. He watches, mesmerized, as the blood leaks out. He's sitting on the couch – the blood will stain, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is that his airways are opening again, slowly. But it's not enough. So he cuts again. The pain, the clarity, the easiness of his breathing envelop him, and he wonders why he ever stopped.

Briefly, briefly, he pictures the faces of his family in his mind. They'll be so disappointed in him. They'll watch him even closer – but then, why aren't they here, right now? Iceland doesn't know what he wants in the long run. Does he want them to watch him? Does he want to stop? He does and he doesn't. He does and he doesn't. Everything confuses him, so he does the one thing that doesn't – he cuts.

But then his hands are forced apart, and he cuts a little bit diagonally. The razor is removed, and is replaced by gloved hands. Iceland forces himself to look up, heart pounding, breathing picking up. It's Norway, crying, his face an open book. Iceland flinches. He is the only one who can ever get Norway to show his true emotions. Norway holds Iceland's hand up to his lips, lightly kisses them, then brings the hand up to his forehead.

"Can you stop?" Iceland croaks. It scares him how Norway is crying. It's creepy how affectionate he's being. "People will think you like me or something." It looks that way to outsiders, they both know it. But they also both know that Norway is scared and needs physical contact to keep himself grounded.

Norway eventually drops his hand. Iceland sits patiently as Norway wraps his wrist. He hates how vulnerable he is, hates how Norway cares, hates how he slipped up.

"What happened?" Norway demands, eyes swimming with concern.

Iceland shrugs nonchalantly. "It doesn't matter." And it really doesn't. Because Norway is there, now. And the cutting has already done its job – Iceland is calm and sharp.

Norway tenses. "It matters, Iceland." Iceland avoids Norway's eyes. "I want to know why you hurt yourself."

Iceland tries to shrug off the emotions threatening to burst. He will not cry. He's done enough of that. It was a mistake to try to stop in the first place. Yes, cutting is wrong, but he can't stop. A part of him doesn't want to.

"You were doing so well …" Norway continues, trying to prompt Iceland to answer.

"Well, obviously, I wasn't," Iceland snaps, glaring at Norway.

Iceland watches as Norway struggles to come up with something to say. As he waits, he feels his brief anger deflate. He leans back into the cushions of the couch, trying to play off his strange emotions that he can't control.

"Why didn't you call?" Norway settles upon saying.

Iceland shrugs and looks away. "I didn't think anyone cared enough. It's my problem, anyway. The cutting."

Norway frowns. Iceland swallows the knot in his throat. "You should have called. We care about you, Iceland. I don't know what we did to make you think we didn't. But we love you. We want to help."

"Then why weren't you there?" Iceland asks. He sounds a bit accusatory, a bit broken.

"Iceland, I didn't know," Norway pleads with him. Iceland takes a shaky breath. "I would have been here if I knew."

It's quiet for a few minutes. Iceland forces back tears, tries to maintain his strong appearance, although he's certain he looks as fragile as he feels. Norway watches him, bites his lip thoughtfully. They can both feel the tension in the air. However much Iceland had opened up in the last two weeks had shut tight again. Iceland doesn't plan on opening an inch. Norway is determined to get past Iceland's wall.

"We will get through this," Norway says. Iceland doesn't react. "You hear me, Iceland? You _will_ get through this. We'll fix you. I promise."

Iceland fiddles with his fingers. He stares down at his feet, wishing that he could disappear. "Sometimes … sometimes, I don't want to heal," he confesses, voice shaking. "Sometimes, I want to stay like this."

Norway surprises him by bringing him into a hug. "No, you don't," he says into Iceland's hair. "You think you do, but you don't." Norway pulls away slightly to look Iceland in the eyes. "We are going to help you. And you are going to get better."

Iceland doesn't disagree. He just lets his brother hold him. He doesn't know how long it will take, or if the urge will ever go away, but he will stop cutting. Eventually. At least, that's what he tries to convince himself.


	72. Day Seventy-Nine: Starvation

_**Okay, so I had one reviewer who wanted the guide/table of contents thing up ASAP. So, I'll do that, well, ASAP. It should be up in a few minutes.**_

_**I don't like how this ended. And it sounds dumb, but think about it from America's slightly naïve perspective.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SEVENTY-NINE: Starvation**

_Character(s): America; (brief) France, England_

_Pairing(s): none, or, I guess a slight (VERY slight) FrUK at the end_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/family_

OoOoOo

America has always been more intellectual than most. He's just good at hiding it. He has a reputation on being the dumb, loud one – and he actually likes it. He doesn't mind the mean things they say to him, or the jokes they tell about him, or the rumors they spread that eventually get back to him.

But one thing they say does bother him. If not for himself specifically, then for his people. He's called fat almost every day, and while he knows very well that he is not fat, he knows that some of his people – if they were told this – would take drastic measures. He himself is not like these people. When it's between feeling full and feeling empty, he'd rather feel full. Plus, a part of him feels like all the extra food he eats – not all McDonalds, like the others think – is to make up for the lack of food some of his people take in.

And this is what makes him cry on some nights. When he walks among his people and he spots someone who knows isn't eating, he feels a part of him break. What has he done that has made his people think they are too fat? What has the media done, or other countries done? He doesn't understand, but he does his best to fix the problem.

He has programs all over the states to raise awareness for things like anorexia and bulimia. He has programs that will help those people. He himself will volunteer sometimes to talk to them and try and help them understand that they don't need to starve themselves. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't. Sometimes, people relapse. He does his best to save his people.

He's brought it up with the other countries before, but they never listen. He's tried it in various ways at various meetings. He's tried talking to the group, or talking to a trusted friend. But nothing seems to get through their heads. He wants them to understand what these people feel. He wants them to understand how hurtful being called fat is. After nearly a year of trying, he gives up and moves onto his next plan.

He hates himself for doing it, but it is probably the only way to get it through their thick heads how serious anorexia and bulimia are. He's scared – what if he ends up like his people, unable to stop? What if he affects his people, and they start starving themselves, too? How far is he willing to go with this? But he's a country, not a normal human, so he can't die from anorexia, and thus, he goes through with his plan.

He researches anorexia and bulimia and figures out, so to speak, how to be anorexic. He wants to show the other nations just how easy it is to miss, just how dangerous it is. He wonders how long it will take them to notice. And so he begins starving himself, making excuses as to why he can't eat, throwing up after meals, exercising more – a lot more. He hates himself and wants to stop, but the others haven't noticed, so he keeps going.

And then he grows to like it. He knows it's wrong, and he knows that his people's mindset has probably taken over his own judgment, but suddenly, it isn't just about proving a point anymore. It's about getting the others to stop calling him fat. It's about doing something productive – at least, that's what his slightly-more-screwed-up mind tells him. So when he's caught – by France, no less – he no longer has the will to stop on his own.

France tells England, and the two corner him and demand an explanation. So America gives them one, starting from his people to trying to prove a point. They tell him they understand now, and that he has to stop, because he might be hurting his people – not to mention, even if he's not human, he can still be hospitalized and fall into a coma when a human would be dead. America confesses that he doesn't want to stop anymore, that he's learned to want it, to need it.

England and France, brothers and parents both to America, are devastated. America understands why they're upset, and they understand why he did this stupid 'project' in the first place. So they all work together, slowly, until he's finally back to his old weight and he no longer has the urge to starve or puke.

Since then, most of the countries have stopped calling America fat, and have a greater understanding towards anorexia and bulimia. So America is, indeed, more intelligent than they believe – but even he needs help when he gets in too deep.


	73. Day Ninety-Eight: Puzzle

_**Just a little drabble. It's about time I did a Christmas piece, anyway.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-EIGHT: Puzzle**

_Character(s): Iceland; (mentioned) Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): family/angst_

OoOoOo

Iceland picked up a piece, turned it in his hand, lined it up with its match, connected them with a gentle push. He paused. Took a shaky breath. Picked up another piece.

He glanced at the Christmas tree, then back down at the puzzle. He sighed. It wasn't the same.

How long had it been since he and Norway had done a puzzle together? He remembered that, as a child, it would be their Christmas tradition. But they hadn't done one in so long. Iceland missed it. He tried to keep up the puzzle tradition on his own every year.

Looking down at the finished puzzle, he thought about taping the pieces together, as he and Norway used to do. Iceland's hands clenched.

It wasn't the same. Not without Norway.

Iceland tore the puzzle apart.


	74. Day Ninety-Seven: Safety First

_**This was inspired by the fact that I love Supernatural and from this headcanon over on tumblr: **_America completely demon-proofs his house, with salt and Devil's Traps and holy water and everything. Though he doesn't think anyone would actually try to attack a nation, he doesn't want to take any chances. He's learned everything he knows from Supernatural and England.

_**And thus … this … was created …**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-SEVEN: Safety First**

_Character(s): America; Canada; (mentioned) England, France_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

Canada rang America's doorbell and waited. It had been a while since the two of them had actually talked to each other and had some 'bro'-time together. And so there he was.

When the door opened, Canada opened his mouth to say hello – and to possibly remind his brother who he was – only to be splashed in the face with water. Blinking and gasping in surprise, Canada had no words to say. He got the water out of his eyes in time to see America aiming for his arm with a knife.

Shouting in surprise and slight anger and fear, Canada moved out of the way. America managed to knick his arm. Canada covered the small cut with his hand, hissing in pain.

"Sorry, dude," America shrugged, smiling as if it was perfectly normal to attack his brother for no reason. "Had to make sure."

Canada pushed past America, sighing. He decided not to question his brother's stupidity.

Until he saw the drawings on his brothers ceiling and floor and all over the window panes.

"America … What is this?" Canada turned, only to see America pouring salt onto the floor in front of the now-closed door.

"Dude, it keeps demons and stuff out," America replied, standing up.

Canada raised an eyebrow. "Demons?" he asked dubiously.

America nodded. "Yup. This –" he raised his arms to the room in general "is so no demon or ghost can get in!"

Canada rolled his eyes before sighing. "Who told you this?" he asked, wondering who had put such stupid ideas into his brother's head.

"England told me some stuff," America told him. "But I learned most of this stuff from Supernatural."

"Supernatural?"

"Yeah. That TV show. Y'know."

Canada shook his head. "I've never heard of it."

America gasped. "You've never heard of Supernatural? But it's the perfect way to learn about demons and stuff! And how to keep them away – which is the most important thing!"

"America," Canada said softly. "It's a TV show."

"Lies!" America retorted. "It's based on fact! England said so!"

Canada shook his head. Again. He could not handle this. Not today.

Epilogue:

Eventually, America convinced Canada to watch Supernatural with him and England. The three of them followed the series and the fandom religiously. They even quoted entire episodes. Usually, America was Dean, England was Sam, and Canada was Castiel.

Let's just say, the rest of the world was extremely confused when they started quoting episodes during meetings. And trying to summon demons. Or angels. Or both.

And then there's the pizza man. France overheard them quoting this part once and immediately took a liking to the show.

The world never knew what hit them.


	75. Day Eighteen: Rainbow

_**I've been wanting to write this for a while. This is for Spain legalizing gay marriage in 2005 (or whenever). Sorry if this isn't good. I wrote this at 1:30 AM when I was sick and couldn't sleep. Typos are the result of my fevered mind.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTEEN: Rainbow**

_Characters: Romano; Spain_

_Pairing(s): Spamano_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): romance/angst (?)_

OoOoOo

You first read it in the newspaper, because he's too much of an asshole to tell you in person. You stare at the headline, frozen, eyes wide, before you crumple up the damn thing and throw it in the trash. Even then, the words are seared into your brain. You shake your head in disbelief. His stupidity will be his downfall. Your eyes wander over to the trash can. You don't know if you should call him, or if you should ignore his existence for the rest of eternity.

You're angry.

You're happy.

You ignore his calls for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, you're forced to see him at the next world conference. You stand in the doorway for a minute, think about skipping out, but then he spots you and beckons you over. You glare at him and refuse to move any closer to him. You glare at him and mutter obscenities in your native tongue. He seems to be able to read your lips, for he half-frowns in disapproval. You see that he is wearing a shirt with the colors of the fucking rainbow on it. You scowl. He can read you like a book and sends you a pitying look. You stomp over to your chair, avoiding his gaze.

You're angry.

You're happy.

Before you realize it, he's made his way over to you. You glare at the table and ignore his presence. He's persistent, though, and finally, you look up. He's smiling like the idiot he is. He wants to talk to you, about what he's done, but you don't want to hear it. Luckily, the meeting begins, and he's forced to sit at his designated seat – and away from you.

You're angry.

You're happy.

He catches you after the meeting and drags you to a secluded hallway. You frown and fix your gaze on the wall. He takes your hand in his. "I did this for you," he tells you, softly, but strongly. "I did this for us." You pull your hand away and cross your arms. He forces you to look at him. He stares sadly into your eyes, wills you to understand. You don't but you do. He pulls you closer until his lips are touching yours. You find yourself kissing back. It's wrong but it's right. You hate him. You love him.

You're angry.

You're happy.


	76. Day Sixty-Nine: Annoyance

**DAY SIXTY-NINE: Annoyance**

_Characters: Norway; Denmark_

_Pairing(s): DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): romance_

OoOoOo

Denmark is the most annoying being on the planet, Norway decides.

He's loud.

He's obnoxious.

He's always drunk, which makes him louder – and when he's not drunk, he's oblivious to what goes on around him.

He's selfish.

He's greedy.

He's always teasing Norway – and not even a sharp pull to his tie will make him shut up for long.

He's an idiot.

He's always smiling that stupid, stupid smile – never serious, that one.

Norway feels hands petting his hair as he lies in bed. He leans into the taller man, who gently pulls him into a kiss.

Denmark is definitely the most annoying being on the planet, Norway decides, but Denmark is _his_ annoying, loud, obnoxious, idiotic being.


	77. Day Eighty-Seven: Food

_**This is a sequel to 'Keeping a Secret.' I highly suggest you read that one first – partially because there's a lot more feels in that one than this – but I suppose you can read this alone.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-SEVEN: Food**

_Character: Norway; Denmark_

_Pairing(s): pre-DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

Food.

Who knew one little word would disgust him so much?

Norway stared at the plate before him, hands clenched in his lap. It was a Norwegian dish, and while he appreciated Denmark's efforts, there were so many calories in that one plate. Feeling sick to his stomach, Norway pushed the plate away from him. He looked down at the scratches in the table.

"Norge," Denmark pleaded. Norway hated to hear his almost-lover so pained, but he hated calories even more. He knew it was wrong, he knew that he had to eat – but the calories would make him fat. He'd become big and ugly again, and then Denmark would never want him, and Iceland would be disgusted by him.

He sat stiffly in his chair, face blank. He couldn't eat the food. He just couldn't. He heard Denmark sigh. He closed his eyes. He hated disappointing Denmark. He wished he wasn't so pathetic. But if he hadn't been fat in the first place, this would never have happened. Things would have never gotten out of control.

"Norge, just eat half of it," Denmark begged. Norway shook his head.

"I can't," he said, voice cracking.

"Tell me why you can't."

Norway shook his head.

"Norge, tell me why you can't!" Denmark shouted, eyes watering.

Norway jumped. He opened his eyes but didn't look up. "Because I'll be fat again," he admitted. "I know I went too far, but I really did need to be skinner."

"No you didn't!" Denmark yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "You were perfectly healthy before you started starving yourself."

"But compared to you –"

"We're different people," Denmark said, taking a breath. "You don't have to look like me, just like I don't have to look like you."

Norway didn't know why Denmark would ever want to look like him, but kept his thoughts to himself. He resumed glaring at the plate of food set before him. His eyes glanced up at Denmark, who stared at him, waiting for the shorter blond to eat.

Norway bit his lip, knowing that Denmark wouldn't leave until he'd eaten. He reluctantly picked up his fork and took a small bite. He barely tasted the food. He chewed exactly ten times before swallowing. He took a drink of water. He glanced up at Denmark. Denmark continued watching him. Norway took another smaller-than-bite-size piece. Chewed another ten times. Took another drink of water. Repeat.

After what seemed like forever, half of the plate was gone, and Norway felt close to bursting. He shook in self-hatred and anger and pain. So many calories. He'd be fat in no time. How could Denmark even stand to look at him?

But then he saw Denmark smile, albeit a bit sadly, but it was still a smile. "You did good, Norge," Denmark told him. "We'll try again later, okay?"

Norway nodded jerkily. Denmark didn't let him out of his sight until he knew Norway had digested the food. Norway closed his eyes, tears pricking behind his eyelids. It was going to be difficult. He knew that. But seeing Denmark smile made it worth it.


	78. Day Seventy-Seven: Test

**DAY SEVENTY-SEVEN: Test**

_Characters: America; England_

_Pairing(s): USUK_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): romance_

OoOoOo

America had always been very self-confident. At least, that was the way he appeared to be. England had grown fond of his lover's ridiculous plans because they showed how America didn't care what anyone said. England was actually the slightest bit jealous at how America walked into the room, smile on his face, shouting at the top of his lungs, and not giving a shit what anyone else said to him.

America was also confident in bed, too. England was constantly at his mercy, begging and pleading, and America knew exactly how to please him, no questions asked. His fingers were steady and he never once backed down from a challenge. They'd even role-played before, with America as the cop and England as the criminal. America always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say. Never was there ever a quiver in his voice or a glance of uncertainty in his face.

So when England wanted to try something new, he figured that America would be open and willing to give it a try. It had taken England weeks to gain the courage to tell America that he wanted to top, and that he wanted to tie down his lover. He wanted to spice things up a bit and since America had gone along with everything so far, he didn't see a problem.

But when America heard his request, the younger nation froze. England watched in concern as America's grin fell from his face, and a look of pure fear in his eyes appeared. No longer caring about the new sex game, England took America's hand in his. It took some coaxing, but eventually America admitted that he didn't like being weak and vulnerable. England let it drop.

A couple of months later, America told England that he was ready to try being tied down. England was skeptical of this, but was able to be persuaded. After another couple of weeks of planning safe-words and what was and wasn't okay, the day finally came. England tied down his lover, reminded him of the safe word, and watched to make sure America wouldn't hyperventilate just being tied down.

He and America both knew that this was a huge step for them as a couple. It wasn't just about sex. It was a test of trust between lovers. England was glad that America trusted him enough to do this. And America would remind him from then on that he would always trust England.

OoOoOo

_**Crappy ending is crappy. Review, please!**_


	79. Day Twenty: Fortitude

_**This is for hyuugahealer3, who wanted more anorexic!Norway. This has officially been turned into another mini-series, like 'Blood' and its prequels/storyline. This story comes right after 'Food,' so I suggest you read that and 'Keeping a Secret' beforehand.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY TWENTY: Fortitude**

_Characters: Norway; Denmark_

_Pairing(s): pre-DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

Norway glanced down at the plate, then up at Denmark's expectant face, then back down at the plate. He struggled to contain his breathing. He didn't understand why this was so hard. It was just half a plate. He just had to eat half of it. Just like he had yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And so many other days before that one. Why wasn't it getting any easier?

He carefully took a bite. Chewed exactly ten times. Swallowed. Took a drink of water. Waited exactly twenty seconds. Repeated the cycle. Denmark finished his own food and had seconds and part of a third plate before Norway had finally finished eating half of his portion. Denmark smiled sadly, told him good job – as if he were a dog learning a new trick – and then went to wash the dishes.

Norway glared at Denmark's spot across the table from him. How could the taller nation eat so much more than him and yet stay so fit? He never gained any wait, not like Norway. He was muscular and handsome and perfect, the opposite of Norway.

Norway felt nauseas from eating so much. His stomach protested with the amount of food he'd consumed. He held a hand to his mouth. He glanced over at where Denmark was drying the plates. Norway couldn't stand it. He had to get those calories – all of that fat – out of his body. Now.

He leapt to his feet and ran to the bathroom, ignoring Denmark's shouts. Norway had his fingers down his throat before Denmark had reached him. Norway gagged and spat into the toilet. He felt Denmark's glare on his back. When Norway was finished, he flushed the toilet, washed his hands and his mouth, before turning slowly to Denmark. He refused to make eye contact with the man, ashamed.

"What the hell, Norge!" Denmark yelled. Norway flinched. "You were doing so well!" Norway stayed silent. He felt the back of his neck heat up. "What happened?" Norway shrugged. "Look at me, Norge." He hesitated. "Look at me!"

"What do you want me to say?" Norway snapped, lifted his eyes to Denmark's. "That having so many calories in me sickens me? That the thought of getting even the slightest bit fatter makes me hate myself? That I can't even look at you without being reminded of how I will never look?"

Denmark glowered at him. "It's your own damn fault for starting this in the first place!" he seethed. Norway winced. "Now you're so skinny, it hurts me to look at you!" Norway crossed his arms in an attempt to hide how his bones jutted out. Denmark sighed, then said, a bit calmer, "I'm just trying to help you."

Norway didn't say anything for a few minutes. Denmark led them to the living room. They sat down in silence. Finally, Norway admitted in a small voice, "I don't want to be fat again. I just want to look like you."

Denmark's eyes watered. Norway pretended not to notice. "We've been over this. You don't have to look like me." Norway shrugged and looked away. "And you were never fat. I promise."

Norway didn't reply. Denmark stood up and went to the kitchen, returning after a few minutes with some leftover food. Norway stiffened.

"Now let's try this again," Denmark said.

"No."

"You need nutrients in your body, Norge," Denmark tried to reason. Norway stared at the wall. "Do I have to feed you? Because I will if I have to." Norway didn't react. "If you don't start eating more on your own, I'm going to take you to see a doctor."

That caught Norway's attention. "What?"

Denmark sighed, putting the plate aside. "I've done my best to help you, but you're not making it easy for me. I don't want you hurt, Norge." Denmark looked Norway in the eye. "I don't want you to die."

Norway rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to die, idiot."

Denmark frowned. "People die from not eating enough all the time. You might not want to admit it, but you're sick. You need professional help."

Norway crossed his arms. "I do not have an eating disorder." This he was sure of. Only girls got those, and human girls, at that. Almost never a man, and definitely not a nation. He just went overboard on trying to be skinny and perfect, but it certainly wasn't an eating disorder.

Denmark apparently thought so, for even though he dropped the argument, the next day, he dragged Norway to the doctor's. After a lot of questions and Norway burning a hole through the doctor with his glare, the shorter nation was prescribed antidepressants.

Denmark went and picked them up, leaving Norway in the car. When they returned to Norway's house – practically Denmark's, too, at this point – Denmark got a glass of water and sat down at the table across from Norway. Norway stared at the glass of water and the pill on the table.

"No," Norway stated. "I refuse." He wasn't sick. He wasn't depressed. He didn't have a disorder. He had a problem with calories and being fat and not being perfect yet, but that was it. Everyone felt like that to some degree, didn't they?

Denmark raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Okay, then," he said, stretching in his chair. "We'll just sit here until you take it. And maybe we can have something to eat while I wait for you to take that."

Norway clenched his fists. "It's too late for food."

Denmark gave a half-hearted smirk. "I'm always up for a snack before bed. And every time I eat, you have to eat, too."

Norway swallowed thickly. He had to decide which was worse: the pill or the food. To his horror, he found himself choking back tears. This wasn't fair. Everyone was ganging up on him. Why couldn't they understand?

"Norge," Denmark said softly, leaning forward a bit. He took Norway's hand in his. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm here. I'm not leaving. I'm going to help you, and damn it, we're going to get you better."

Norway slipped his hand from Denmark's and picked up the pill with shaking fingers. He took a breath and swallowed the pill with a gulp of water. Denmark grabbed his hand again and smiled.

"You're going to get better," he told Norway. And Norway believed him.

OoOoOo

_**How was that? I have two more chapter ideas for this storyline. Hope you guys enjoy reading anorexic!Norway.**_


	80. Day Fifty-Six: Danger Ahead

_**Here's part four of the anorexic!Norway series. I highly recommend reading the other parts first:**_

_**Keeping a Secret**_

_**Food**_

_**Fortitude**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-SIX: Danger Ahead**

_Characters: Norway; Denmark_

_Pairing(s): pre-DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

Norway glared at Denmark. The taller blond only raised an eyebrow. Sighing in defeat, Norway brought the antidepressant to his lips. When he was satisfied that Norway had swallowed the pill, Denmark smiled. Norway crossed his arms. He hated taking the antidepressants. They made him feel like … not himself. He didn't like it. Not at all.

The phone rang. Denmark went to answer it. Norway waited a minute. Positive that Denmark would be talking for a while, Norway snuck to the bathroom and threw up the pill, as well as what little he'd eaten that morning.

That day, he felt better. He didn't feel fake. He didn't feel emotionless. He didn't feel like the pill was in control. No, he was the one in control. And suddenly he remembered how much control he'd had when he didn't eat.

He'd gained weight in the past few weeks. He hated it, just as much as he hated the pill. He was getting chubby. How could Denmark not notice? How could Denmark want him to get fat again? Denmark kept forcing him to eat and eat and eat, and that just made him feel nauseas and fat and worthless and not even close to perfect.

Norway decided that he needed to prevent himself from getting any fatter. He couldn't throw up as long as Denmark kept watching him like a hawk. But maybe he could exercise. And he could pretend to take the pill – it wasn't hard to hide it under his tongue. He didn't need the pill. And he just needed Denmark to trust him enough to stop watching his every move, and then he could go back to throwing up after every meal – only he'd be more careful this time. He wouldn't get caught, and he wouldn't lose control so that he was all bones. That had been a mistake. He wouldn't let it get that far again.

It took another week for him to convince Denmark to stop looking over his shoulder all the time. Denmark made sure he ate, but didn't stay as long afterwards – which gave Norway the perfect opportunity to throw up. He stopped taking showers before breakfast, so that he would have an excuse to go to the bathroom after eating. And he always went out for a "walk" after one of the other two meals, changing the amount of time afterwards and which meal he went out after, so that Denmark wouldn't get suspicious. On these "walks" he'd go down behind his property and throw up behind a tree, then cover it up. Denmark didn't like travelling out so far, so it was unlikely he would ever see him – or follow him.

About a month later, Denmark had to go to a meeting with his boss. It would last a few days, plus a few extra days to sort things out. Norway estimated a week, maybe a week and a half, that he would be unsupervised, because Denmark trusted him. Norway hated to break that trust, but he needed to be perfect. He simply couldn't have all those calories, all that fat, in his body.

He only ate celery and only drank water while Denmark was away. He dumped the antidepressants down the sink. He exercised more than ever to make up for all the fat he'd gained over the past few months. He dreaded Denmark's return – what excuse could he use so that he could exercise more, eat less, and hide the empty bottle of pills? But then Denmark had to stay for another two weeks due to some technicalities, and Norway stopped caring.

He was going to be perfect for Denmark. He was going to look better. He wasn't going to be fat. He refused to be fat ever again, no matter what Denmark or anyone else said. He didn't have a disorder. He was a nation. And a man. There was no way he had a disorder. And so he continued exercising and vomiting, even when there was nothing to vomit.

Denmark returned, and Norway hid how skinny he was with more layers underneath his normal clothes. He refused to allow Denmark to touch him. He ended up exercising the most at night and throwing up whenever Denmark wasn't in the same hallway as the bathroom.

All of the exercising and vomiting and lack of nutrients caught up to Norway only five days after Denmark's return. Norway found himself lying on the floor, dizzy, after passing out. Denmark called an ambulance, and the next thing Norway knew, he was in a hospital bed. He scrambled to disconnect the IV from his arm, only for doctors to tie him down and sedate him.

When he was coherent enough, Denmark yelled and cussed him out until the taller blond had to be removed from the room. The next time he was allowed in, Denmark just sat beside the bed and cried.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Denmark demanded, more to himself than to Norway. "You're killing yourself. Norge, you're sick. Why don't you see that?"

Norway narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sick. I'm getting better. I'm not fat. I refuse to be fat."

"Nothing I say ever gets through your head, does it?" Denmark half-shouted, glaring at Norway. "And people say I'm the dumb one."

"I'm not dumb," Norway spat.

"You're sick," Denmark repeated. "You need help." Norway looked away. "Please, Norge. Do it for me."

"Why should I?"

Denmark leaned forward. Norway's heart skipped a beat, something the heart monitor picked up on. Denmark smirked, although his eyes remained sad. "Because I love you, and I can't stand to see you hurting yourself."

Norway opened his mouth to respond. Denmark took the opportunity to kiss him. Norway kissed back.

"Get better," Denmark pleaded, resting his forehead on Norway's. "For me."

Norway bit his lip. Maybe, for Denmark, he would try. "For you."


	81. Day Sixty-Two: Magic

**DAY SIXTY-TWO: Magic**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K_

_Genre(s): poetry_

OoOoOo

What little girls dream of,

why children don't want to grow up.

What used to be the norm,

and what is now only play.

Now it is only for flying –

for beasts and dancing teacups.

But I remember those days

where everyone ran from the fae –

they weren't so friendly then,

but those stories are forgotten.

Now magic and fantasy is hidden,

only seen by the few who believe.

To the rest, we're insane

when really, it keeps us sane –

at least one thing in our lives hasn't changed.


	82. Day Ninety-Six: In the Storm

**DAY NINETY-SIX: In the Storm**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

It's snowing outside. A lot. It's a blizzard. You know that if you went out there, you wouldn't be able to see your own hand.

And that's why you want to go outside. You want to be invisible from every eye. You want to be at the mercy of the storm. You want to test your limits, and theirs.

It's too safe, too quiet, too alone, too warm in your house.

The family portraits hanging on your walls portray you and your supposed brothers as a picture-perfect family. You're not. They're not. Or perhaps it's just you.

It's too fake. None of it is real. The smiles, the laughter, the photos – none of it is real. You know this. You've known this for years. Your brothers do, too – they just don't show it.

You abandon your cocoon of blankets and make your way down the stairs. You hear someone call your name in passing, but you don't care. You open the door and step into the storm.

Already, you're blinded by white and wind and cold. You're dressed only in a T-shirt and jeans. A jacket and boots aren't necessary. You embrace the storm.

Teeth chattering, you walk into what appears to be the thickest part of the storm. You don't know how long you walk for, or how far you are from the house. It doesn't matter.

When your feet are pained and numb, and you can no longer feel your hands or your cheeks, you collapse onto the snow. You lie on your side at first, but you feel too sheltered, too alone. So you turn onto your back and allow the dying storm to caress you.

You're so tired and numb. You stare up at the sky as the wind and snow gradually slow and leave. You stay lying on the ground, half-buried, tired and so very numb.

It's peaceful and real. You close your eyes. You never want to leave this paradise. You begin to fall asleep – a peaceful, numbing sleep – but then you're being shaken.

You don't want to open your eyes. You try so very hard to fall asleep. It's so peaceful. You don't want to go back to the fake family. You want to stay.

But your cheek, although numb, suddenly stings. You hear someone yelling at you to open your eyes. You don't want to. So you don't.

But another slap on your cheek brings you more into awareness. Frustration nips in the back of your mind, but you're still so very numb.

You open your eyes, at long last, and you see the face of your brother – your true brother, but the one who seems to like you the least. He's crying, which can't be right, so you close your eyes again.

But your brother shakes you hard so that you're brought even more into awareness, and you want to yell at him, but your lips are so very cold and chapped and numb.

You're lifted into someone's arms – can't be your true brother, so you're all the more confused – and you hear him and your true brother talking to you. They say to stay awake, but you don't want to.

You guess you said that out loud, for the grip on you tightens and you hear your real brother choke back a sob, your name murmured in sadness and hurt.

You're so very numb and so very cold and so very tired and so very sick of pretending to be part of a perfect family that's not perfect at all, especially not with you.

So even when you feel the temperature rise and a bed beneath your back, you don't fight the sleep that reminds you of the peaceful reality of the storm.


	83. Day Nineteen: Gray

_**Okay, so this one is another thing that is more about my personal opinions, and not so much about any one character. However, there IS someone I'm thinking would also have this opinion. At least, in my headcanon, anyway.**_

_**By the way, it's formatted like this on purpose – sort of to make a point. If you can actually read through it, here's a cookie: (::)**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETEEN: Gray**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): poetry_

OoOoOo

I've never really understood how people can label things so easily. Nothing goes neatly into its

own little box. We can agree that the sky is blue – but you say it's a solid color, and I say there

are various hues. But, hey, you say tomayto, I say tomahto. I guess it's all a matter of perspective

– and that's what irritates me. If we all see things differently, then how can we possibly label

anything? The world isn't black and white. Every color scale, every personality scale,

every sexual and romantic and happiness and sadness and anything-you-can-possibly-thing-of scales –

there is not black and white. It's all gray. And even gray has a scale. There's dark, darker,

darkest; light, lighter, lightest; every shade in-between. But we don't

say "light gray." We don't say "dark gray." We say "gray," which lumps together an infinite amount of shades of gray.

We do the same to each other, in everyday life, so much that it sickens me – but we're all

conditioned to do it. Not even I can stop labeling, no matter how hard I try. There's a person

wearing a lot of black – she must be goth. But what if she just likes the color black? And there's

an anime fan – she must be insane and obsessed with the fandom. But what if she actually enjoys

the storyline and is calm and open to anything? There are so many levels to every spectrum that

we all skip over. If only we could learn to see past the label and look to the specific shade of gray

of everyone and everything.


	84. Day Eighty-One: Pen and Paper

_**This is the last part of the anorexic!Norway series. I recommend you read the other parts of the series first:**_

_**Keeping a Secret**_

_**Food**_

_**Fortitude**_

_**Danger Ahead**_

OoOoOo

**Day Eighty-One: Pen and Paper**

_Characters: Norway; (brief) Denmark; (mentioned) Iceland_

_Pairing(s): DenNor_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): hurt/comfort/romance_

OoOoOo

Norway sat in his chair beside his bed. He flipped through the red journal in his hands. He needed reminders, as he so often did. He needed strength.

=/=/=

_My therapist gave me this journal. She wants me to write down how I feel … typical. I don't think I have a problem. I don't understand what Danmark is so worried about. I lost control … but I was in control, too. How does that even make sense?_

_The doctors are making me take antidepressants again. I hate them. The pills, mostly, but also the doctors. They don't know who they're dealing with. They think I'm human. If they knew just who I was, they'd have no say in my actions. Unfortunately, Danmark is on their side. He makes sure I write in this journal – "because you refuse to open up to me," he says – and watches my actions three times as much as before._

_I tried to dump the antidepressants, but Danmark caught me. He yelled at me, then broke down crying. He wouldn't let go of me for at least an hour. He doesn't trust me, not that I expect him to. It still hurts to see the betrayal and caution in his eyes, though. I tried to explain why – the reason for everything, why I think this way – but he doesn't want to hear it. And I don't want to hear what he has to say, either. I'm not sick. I'd know if I was._

=/=/=

Norway skipped a few entries. He winced at what he landed on, memories of throwing fits coming to the forefront of his mind.

=/=/=

_I'm so angry right now. And lately, as well, I suppose. I'm angry at the doctors for the antidepressants and trying to send me somewhere for "people like me." I'm angry at my therapist for pretending to care and screwing with my head. I'm angry at Danmark for making me eat, making me take the pills, making me write in this stupid journal._

_I'm angry at myself. Why can't I be good enough? Why can't I reach perfection? Why can't I make any sense of my thoughts – how can I be fat and skinny at the same time? How can I think so poorly of myself when I'm the freaking Kingdom of Norge – former Viking nation? How could I have let myself down?_

_Why can't I get these thoughts out of my head? Maybe Danmark is right. Maybe there is something wrong with me._

=/=/=

The one he read next nearly brought him to tears. Nearly.

=/=/=

_I tried to throw up after lunch today. I couldn't do it. I was too disgusted with myself. I felt horrified, both at the act and at my thought process. How had I ever done this? Why did I only now realize how wrong it was?_

_Danmark found me kneeling beside the toilet seat and crying. I told him I couldn't so it. He didn't say anything, just hugged me. I must have looked a sight. Since when do I cry in front of anyone? Since when do I allow myself to be comforted?_

_When did I decide that I had to starve to be perfect? Since when did I live for others instead of myself?_

=/=/=

Norway flipped past another several pages of the book. He grinned at one particular entry.

=/=/=

_Danmark took me out for dinner yesterday. As in, we went on a date. He helped me eat my food. He encouraged me when I thought I couldn't handle it. He held my hand while I fought the urge to purge. Afterwards, he walked me to be bedroom and stayed with me until I fell asleep. He kissed me good morning._

_He told me to get better. He told me I was already perfect. I'm starting to believe him._

=/=/=

Near the end of the journal, Norway read an entry that made him look over at the photo of his brother. The younger nation had helped more than he'd ever know.

=/=/=

_I'm gaining weight. Danmark has been showing me how to eat healthy – but indulge on sweets sometimes – and to exercise – but not overly so. I never would have thought he'd be the one to help me._

_Ísland visited me earlier this week. He brought me licorice – which I couldn't bear to eat – and a card. I read it after he left, knowing he would never tell me his feelings to my face. The card read, "Please get better, big brother."_

_I forced myself to eat three pieces of licorice. I will make him proud to be my brother._

=/=/=

He smiled in pride at the last entry of the journal.

=/=/=

_I'm finally at a healthy weight. I've kept my weight for the past week. I'm eating right. Whenever I feel like I can't eat, or like I might throw up, Danmark is always there._

_Danmark told me that if I ever felt that low about myself again, that I had to talk to him. He told me that I'm perfect the way I am, and that I can always tell him what I'm thinking – that he won't laugh._

_And I believe him. I owe him my life. Believing his word is the least I can do._

=/=/=

Norway put the journal away. He looked over at the half-awake Denmark.

"What're you doing?" Denmark asked sleepily.

Norway crawled into the bed. "Nothing." He cuddled up against Denmark, who pulled him close and kissed his temple.

"I love you," Denmark murmured.

Norway not-quite-grinned. "I know," he said softly.

Denmark held his hand. "You're perfect."

Norway looked over at Denmark. He gave a soft kiss to the taller blond. "I know."


	85. Day Sixty: Rejection

_**Um … This is a bit disturbing. Just a warning.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY SIXTY: Rejection**

_Characters: speaker unknown; (mentioned) Sealand, Lichtenstein, Latvia, Iceland, Hong Kong, South Korea, Canada_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): poetry/tragedy_

OoOoOo

Come, brothers and sisters! Come and prepare to take the final leap

Away from our cruel, immortal lives! Oh –

Our elders need not understand our processes, but fear not, for our

Destiny awaits us.

Come, all those rejected by their families and friends! Come and join hands

With us at the highest point! Put aside our previous quarrels and anger –

For we all want to be control in our fate –

And that is what has brought you, and I, here, on this

Glorious day, this freeing day, so without delay

Let us be gone!

Little Peter, Lili, and Raivis – wipe away those tears –

This is a joyous day for us all!

No longer will the elders look down upon you, upon me,

Upon any one of us –

For look at this amazing feat that we have the bravery, the courage, to do –

And, meanwhile, they are all fearful of the flames we spout at them, and flee

At the slightest scent of danger.

Emil and Leon, Yong Soo and Matthew – smile the brightest you've ever felt!

For the day has arrived for us all to defy what the elders wish of us. Oh –

The fate they will never have seen coming!

No longer will you, will I, have to face their rejection, nor will you, nor I, be

Forced to listen to their blatant lies!

Brothers and sisters! – May we all escape from this accursed world!

May this leap be our last, our landings be fast –

And never will they take us for themselves again! Destiny awaits us!

Let us go now and follow each other down into the depths of darkness.


	86. Day Fifty-Nine: No Way Out

**DAY FIFTY-NINE: No Way Out**

_Characters: Latvia; Estonia; Lithuania; Russia_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/horror_

OoOoOo

There was no way out, they said. All the doors are locked, and even if you could get out, the harsh winter wouldn't let you leave. Even by attempting to leave, Russia beats and burns and starves you, so why bother when it only brings more pain?

Latvia knew there was more to life than constantly being afraid. He cursed himself whenever he stuttered or whenever he burst into tears – he's stronger than that. At least, he used to be. And he will be, again. He will show Russia that he's not anyone's to have. He will show Lithuania and Estonia that he is better than both of them, that he's not a little kid who needs to be protected.

He starts small. He stands up for Lithuania, despite the man's cries for him to shut up. Latvia's stutter has mysteriously vanished, his eyes dry, as he tells Russia to leave his friend alone. Russia leaves Lithuania, only to beat Latvia senseless. Afterwards, Latvia tells Lithuania and Estonia it was worth it. They scold him, saying he only angered Russia further, saying that he made it worse. Latvia, however, stands by his actions.

Latvia continues to stand up to Russia, taking the beatings in place of Lithuania and Estonia. He stops crying and screaming, turning to swearing and fighting back. He's still scolded by his fellow Baltic nations. He's learned to ignore them. Eventually, they stop trying. Latvia becomes even more isolated in the house – only Russia pays him any mind, and that's only when he's being beaten.

When he's become numb to the physical pain, and can ignore the emotional pain, Latvia begins stealing Russia's vodka for himself. He guzzles down the alcohol and destroys Russia's room – turning over tables, throwing clothing and lamps and pictures. He cares only for his freedom. He accepts his punishment, and the lecture from Lithuania and Estonia that follows. He brushes off their confusion – why is he doing this? Has he gone mad? – and blames it on the vodka, when he knows perfectly well he will repeat the action again, this time sober, this time breaking every dish in the kitchen.

Lithuania and Estonia confront him before he can do anything more. They have him cornered, and Russia isn't there to scare them off. They demand to know what he's thinking. Latvia ignores their pleas to stop and the concern in their eyes. He yells at them, screams at them, calls them cowards and poor excuses for nations. He pushes past their frozen figures and smashes the nearest thing he can find. They don't both him again.

He's angry at not being taken seriously. He needs to finish this. So he gets up in the middle of the night and sets the curtains and bed sheets on fire, in every room he has access to. He burns himself at some point – he doesn't notice, doesn't care. But then he turns the lighter in his hand, and with the flames dancing behind him, he presses a hot piece of metal – from where? – into his arm. It hurts, but it's escape.

Russia's mad. Latvia can hear him shouting. Lithuania enters the room in a frenzy and takes away the metal. He's yelling – what did you do? What is wrong with you? – but Latvia only stares blankly past him.

"You said there's no way out," Latvia said quietly. "So I'm bringing the 'out' to us." Lithuania grips his arms. It hurts. "I did it for us." Latvia looks to the eldest Baltic. He repeats, louder, "I did it for us."


	87. Day Seventy-Four: Are You Challenging Me

**DAY SEVENTY-FOUR: Are You Challenging Me?**

_Characters: America; Japan_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): humor/suspense_

OoOoOo

America put a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. Japan stood across from him, standing ready. Sweat dripped down both of their necks. They stared into each other's eyes, daring the other to make a move.

"I will take you down," America said, serious for once in his life. He licked his lips. "Whatever it takes."

Japan narrowed his eyes. "Are you … challenging me?"

America smirked. "I am."

Japan stiffened. "Be warned, America-san, I do not lose easily." He raised his hand slowly.

America quirked an eyebrow and brought a hand to his belt. "Neither do I."

Simultaneously, they whipped out their decks of Pokemon cards.

The world didn't hear from either of them for days as America demanded rematch after rematch.

The moral of the story: never challenge Japan in a Pokemon card battle.

OoOoOo

_**I don't like Pokemon, and thus don't actually know if it's actually called a Pokemon card battle … I almost had America say 'I choose you, Pikachu!' but wasn't sure if that was relevant or not … *doesn't know how Pokemon works***_


	88. Day Seven: Heaven

**DAY SEVEN: Heaven**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): poetry/angst_

OoOoOo

The cold has set in. It's cold a lot here. And it seems to never go away.

Even when it's not cold, there's a chill in my bones,

reminding me that the cold will return yet again.

And when it is cold, nothing grows. Nothing is left but snow.

My people starve. So I starve. They're cold. So I'm cold.

The snow stretches out for as far as I can see.

Some people say snow is heavenly. I can't imagine why.

I know the evil side of snow.

It blinds. It bites into your skin. It seeps deep into your bones.

It starves and sickens and kills.

No amount of clothing can block it out. No amount of movement can warm me.

I can't even tell when the cold is outside or when it's inside my body –

freezing my limbs and bones.

I bundle up, but still it chills me. It haunts me. Reminds me that

it's not over. It will never be over.

An endless cycle that I have to endure for eternity.


	89. Day Forty-One: Teamwork

_**This is based on the following headcanon over on silly little headcanons (tumblr): Once at a world meeting, America had everyone play the "Human Knot Game" as a team building exercise. It ended when Italy tripped over Russia, Germany tore a ligament and Norway decided that this was getting "too intimate."**_

_**Needless to say, I couldn't resist.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FORTY-ONE: Teamwork**

_Characters: America; Romano; Poland; Italy; Norway; Russia; Germany; Denmark; England; (mentioned) Japan_

_Pairing(s): none unless you take it that way_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

Teamwork is something that the nations of the world completely and utterly suck at. This is why there are wars and arguments. No one can work together to save their lives, or, rather, their peoples' lives. Even when a few of them form an alliance, there is no teamwork involved. For example, the Axis Powers in World War Two was an alliance, but there wasn't any teamwork involved. Here is the breakdown of how things went:

Germany went and tried to take over Europe.

Japan went and tried to take over Asia.

Italy just wanted to piggyback on Germany and get rich quick.

In other words, no plans or anything amongst themselves. So when America decided it was about time that the nations learned to work as a team, about half of them walked away and the other half agreed that it was a good idea.

But since when were America's idea ever good?

His idea for a team-building exercise? The Human Knot Game. Yes, the game where you hold hands with the person across from you – "Your hands are sweaty, tea-bastard!" – and try to untangle the 'knot' without letting go of anyone's hand – "Wait, do I twist, like, that way, or this way?"

Several of the nations left when it became apparent that this was going nowhere. The rest stayed either because they thought it was fun – "Ve~ This is fun!" – or because they were coerced to – "C'mon, Norge, don't be so antisocial!"

And then things fell apart. Italy tripped on Russia's feet – "Kolkolkol…" "Ahh! Germany, Germany save meeeeeee!" – and when he jumped onto Germany (letting go of the hands he'd been holding in the process), Germany somehow managed to tear a ligament.

So Italy and Germany left the game. The remaining nations switched hands to accommodate for everyone. Of course, now that there were less people, everyone was closer together. And as they attempted to undo the 'knot,' they got even closer. And that's when Norway backed out – "This is getting too intimate." – and the rest of the nations gave up.

America received a smack on the back of the head for his stupidity – "How the bloody hell did you think this was a good idea?" "Hey, you're the one who agreed to participate!" – and everyone left.

This is why the world is never at peace, children. Maybe if the nations could complete the Human Knot Game. But that will never happen.


	90. Day Seventy-Five: Mirror

**DAY SEVENTY-FIVE: Mirror**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): poetry/angst_

OoOoOo

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Who's the fairest of them all?

Not I, I know, for I am stuck –

It's my brother who has the luck.

He's the bravest and loudest, too

So when I'm met, they ask me, who?

It makes me want to tear them down

Piece by piece; rubble on the ground.

I'd start with him, the poor naïve soul –

Maybe then I'd have my rightful role.

But even then, we look the same –

They would likely call me by his name.

Perhaps that would be for the best –

No excuses need to be made for those I detest.

I could play his part and no one would know

That he is not here, that this is but a show.

Then I'd move on to everyone else, the fools

Would wage war on the wrong place; ha, I make the rules.

And then, slowly, I'd take over them all –

I will watch and laugh as they all fall.

Those looks of betrayal, yes they will hurt

But not as much as how they now treat me like dirt.

Though I suppose I would be lonely after a few years

So I guess I'll have to make do with my peers.

So mirror, mirror, on this wall –

Never will I be the fairest of all.


	91. Day Twenty-Two: Mother Nature

**DAY TWENTY-TWO: Mother Nature**

_Characters: Liechtenstein; Switzerland_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor/family_

OoOoOo

"Lili! Are you alright?"

Liechtenstein jumped and looked over at the bathroom door. She glanced down at her underwear before pulling them up and washing her hands. She opened the door. Seeing Switzerland worried, she bowed her head in embarrassment.

"Lili, what took you so long?" Switzerland demanded, not-so-subtly looking past the smaller nation into the room. He clutched his gun tight. If Liechtenstein was hurt …

Liechtenstein blushed and avoided eye contact. She had to say something to get him to calm down. "I'm sorry I worried you, big brother. I, uh, was visited by Mother Nature."

Those were not the right words to say. Liechtenstein swore she could see Switzerland pop a vein. "…" He looked around the bathroom more carefully now. Whoever had visited his naïve sister was about to get shot.

Realizing how her brother must have taken it, Liechtenstein clasped her hands together nervously. "Oh, um … I didn't mean that, uh, literally."

Switzerland turned his attention to the girl. He narrowed his eyes. "Then what did you mean, exactly?"

Liechtenstein somehow managed to blush even deeper. "Uh, y-you know …"

Finally getting the hint, Switzerland looked off to the side in embarrassment, blushing faintly himself. He coughed. "Do you, uh, need any … girl stuff?"

Liechtenstein couldn't meet Switzerland's eyes for the next two days.


	92. Day Fifty-Seven: Sacrifice

**DAY FIFTY-SEVEN: Sacrifice**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): poetry/angst_

OoOoOo

He keeps me here against my will; he still believes he knows best.

I am young, he tells me; I do not know what lies in store.

I call him brother, even though he does not feel like one. Not anymore.

He feels like my master. And even he is like a slave to the other. The one who hates me.

He cares for me as he always did, but now he makes all the decisions.

My people are not happy, and neither am I.

But he still thinks he knows best. So I follow along like a good little boy.

He brought me into this union without my consent. When will I have my freedom?

He does not listen to my complaints, most of which are on the behalf of my people.

When will he understand?

I try to will him to see what he is doing to me, to my people, even to himself.

He brushes it off, says I am too young, says that I do not know what I say.

He does not see for he does not _want_ to see.

For now, I will sacrifice my happiness, my wants and desires. I want him to be happy.

As long as he is happy, I will go along.

But I can only pretend for so long. My people will rise up, and I will support them.

Until that happens, I will sacrifice everything I believe. For him.


	93. Day Fifty-Eight: Kick in the Head

_**Well, I like NorIce and I like DenNor and don't mind DenIce … so why not DenNorIce? Sorry ahead of time for the crappy ending. And crappy smut.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-EIGHT: Kick in the Head**

_Characters: Norway; Iceland; Denmark_

_Pairing(s): DenNorIce_

_Rated: __**M (everyone – see this? This is the warning! M FOR A REASON!)**_

_Genre(s): romance, and if it existed as a genre here, SMUT_

OoOoOo

It started with Denmark's porn magazines and tumbled on from there. Norway had come across them by accident – don't ask – and had made the mistake of flipping through one of them. He'd been surprised that it contained two men doing sexual acts – never would he have thought Denmark was into that. Surprisingly, Norway found that he was turned on by the pictures. Unfortunately, Denmark came home, and Norway had to take a very cold shower to deal with his … ahem … problem.

But the next time he was alone, he found the magazine again and got off to it. And the next time. And the next time. Eventually, he wasn't sure when, he started imagining others' faces. And then he imagined himself in between the two. And then he started to realize what this all meant.

Maybe what he needed was a good kick in the head. Maybe that would rid him of all of these ridiculous thoughts. But in the end, Norway couldn't deny it. He was attracted – and maybe more – to more than one person. And neither of these people could ever find out. It would change everything. Norway didn't want anything to change. At least, that's what he told himself.

He shook his head, tried to focus on anything but their eyes, their lips, their bodies. It didn't work. He felt himself harden, felt his insides melt at the images racing behind his closed eyes – when had he closed them? He couldn't fight it anymore. He laid back in his bed, shivering with desire.

Norway unzipped his pants, freeing his member. He brought a hand to the shaft and started moving, up and down, carefully, tease the tip, up and down. He shuddered and whined, imagining that it wasn't his hand. Already, pre-cum dripped from the slit. But he didn't want to cum yet. He forced himself to hold out, even squeezed the bottom of his shaft. He gasped.

"Iceland."

It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Doing his best to hold back the oncoming orgasm, Norway kicked off his pants and underwear. He inserted a find into his tight hole. It hurt, but it felt good at the same time. Panting and sweating, he inserted another finger. He imagined it was the third person doing this to him and bucked his hips. He spread his legs as wide as he could and inserted a third finger the best his could.

He pumped his throbbing member as he moved inside his hole. He panted and moaned. He struggled to get his fingers deeper inside and whined when he couldn't. He arched into his hand, hoping to somehow hit his sweet spot.

"D-Denmark."

He couldn't hold out much longer. But he still wanted to hit his prostate. He wanted to get those sensations. He resumed pumping his member, hoping for some relief.

And then a hand joined his on his member. Startled, Norway opened his eyes. Iceland raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his face, as he gently removed Norway's hand and teased his member.

"W-what?" Norway stuttered, still panting and oh-so-hot.

"You think we can't hear you?" Iceland asked. Norway couldn't answer. When had they gotten home?

Denmark, Norway could now see, was taking his sweet time removing his clothes. Norway couldn't help but watch. Iceland kept switching his gaze from Denmark to Norway, and obvious bulge forming in his pants.

"Like what you see?" Denmark teased as he finally removed the last article of clothing. He slithered up against Norway, sucking and biting at his neck. Norway, to his embarrassment, mewled in satisfaction.

Denmark gently removed Norway's fingers from his entrance, only to press in his own lube-slathered fingers. Norway arched into him. Iceland hesitantly moved closer to Norway and Denmark moved farther down the bed. Iceland cautiously removed Norway's shirt.

Norway growled. "I'm not fragile, Iceland. I'm not going to bre-AH!" Denmark chuckled as he shifted his fingers suddenly. Norway grabbed Iceland by the collar and pressed their lips together in a sloppy kiss.

Iceland's fingers tweaked and pinched Norway's nipples. Norway gasped, breaking the kiss. Iceland nipped at Norway's shoulder. Norway struggled to remove Iceland's shirt with shaking hands. Iceland shrugged the shirt off and removed his pants. Iceland tugged at Norway's hair. Norway clawed at Iceland's back. Denmark licked and kissed Norway's inner thighs before removing his hand.

Denmark applied more lube to his hand before pressing a finger into Iceland's unsuspecting hole. Iceland shouted in surprise, tightening his hold on Norway. Norway rubbed their erections together, needing more friction. Denmark added two more fingers, stretching Iceland carefully before removing his fingers once more. Iceland whined in protest.

In one swift move, Denmark had removed Iceland from Norway and moved Norway onto his knees. Denmark applied lube to his throbbing member before entering Norway slowly. Norway shifted uncomfortably before sitting down completely on Denmark's member. Iceland, impatient, applied lube to Norway's member. Norway slid into Iceland carefully.

Eventually, they got their rhythm down, Denmark pounding into Norway as Norway thrust into Iceland. Denmark clutched onto Norway's chest from behind, tweaking his nipples and breathing heavily into his ear. Iceland, facing Norway, scratched into Norway's and Denmark's arms.

Finally, all three came. They collapsed onto each other, breathing heavily. Denmark pressed a kiss to Norway's neck and reached over to kiss Iceland's cheek. Iceland initiated a kiss between himself and Norway before doing the same to Denmark.

Norway decided he didn't mind the ridiculous thoughts. He hoped he'd get caught again next time …


	94. Day Nine: Drive

**DAY NINE: Drive**

_Characters: Denmark; Norway; Iceland_

_Pairing(s): none, maybe DenNor but can be seen as brothers_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): drama/angst_

OoOoOo

It was supposed to be a normal drive, a time for them to take down their masks and just enjoy the peaceful ride. But that was before they hit the black ice, before they spun into the guardrail, before they went flying – tumbling – down the hill.

At the bottom, Denmark groaned and blinked away blood from his eyes. He lifted a hand, shaking from adrenaline, to his forehead. He hissed when it touched what felt like a large, but not deep, cut. He looked over at the passenger seat. He struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Norge!" he shouted, startled and panicked.

Norway sat slumped against the window. Shattered glass from the windshield was scattered across the hood of the car and on Norway's lap – a quick glimpse at his own lap revealed the Denmark was also a victim of the glass, some larger pieces sticking into his thigh. From what Denmark could see, the entire left side of Norway's head was bloody.

"Lukas!" Denmark yelled again. Norway didn't stir.

Denmark's pulse raced. He finally managed to unbuckle his seatbelt. He reaches over, ignoring the searing pain in his side. He pressed two fingers to Norway's neck, holding his breath. He let out a shaky sigh of relief when he felt a pulse, weak but there.

He searched the car for his cell phone. He called the ambulance, then waited with baited breath. He hoped they'd hurry. Nations couldn't die unless they were suicidal or their people forgot them, but with a serious enough injury, a nation's personification could fall into a coma for an unknown amount of time. It was completely up to chance if the nation ever woke up again. And that's what scared Denmark. The freezing temperature didn't help any.

Denmark didn't think he'd ever been so relieved when the ambulance finally showed up. He was helped out of the car and put on a stretcher, despite his complaints. He wanted to stay with Norway. Instead, he was forced to watch Norway be wheeled away on another stretcher towards a newly-arrived ambulance, neck brace steadying his head.

Hours, several stitches, and two sedatives later, Denmark was finally allowed to go see Norway, who had already been through surgery. In Norway's room was Iceland. Another thing that Denmark feared.

Iceland spun on the Dane and punched him in the nose. Denmark didn't say anything. Iceland seethed, fist clenched and ready to land another blow.

"This is all your fault!" Iceland shouted, attracting the attention of bystanders in the hall. "If it wasn't for you, Lukas wouldn't be like this!"

Iceland through another punch. Two doctors raced in and led the angry nation away, leaving Denmark alone with his unconscious best friend. Just by looking at the state of Norway and all of the machines – not to mention the doctors saying that he should be dead – Denmark knew that Lukas might not ever wake up.

Denmark took the few wobbly steps to the bed. He held Norway's hand gently. Tears slipped down his cheeks. Stupid black ice. Stupid him for not being able to control the car. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Please wake up, Lukas," Denmark whispered hoarsely, choking back a sob. The one man who ever really understood him was in a coma. "Please. Tell me I'm an idiot. Say this is my fault."

But the only reply he got was the steady _beep … beep … beep …_


	95. Day Twenty-Five: Trouble Lurking

**DAY TWENTY-FIVE: Trouble Lurking**

_Characters: America; England; (brief) Canada; (mentioned) France_

_Pairing(s): sort-of-but-not USUK_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

"America, this has disaster written all over it."

"I know! Isn't it great?"

"Should we really be doing this? Here?"

"Of _course_ not! But that's _why_ we're doing it here."

"You're a bloody idiot, you know tha-AH!"

"Oops. Sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen."

"You bloody think so?!"

"Don't worry, Iggy! I'll fix it! Just give me a minute to –"

"No! Don't touch –"

"There! Now isn't that better?"

"Get your hands off of me!"

"But you like it!"

"I absolutely do _not_ like i-AH! Would you stop _doing_ that!"

"Hold on, I'm starting to get the hang of it!"

"How about you stop and save us both the trouble!"

"But I care about you! Let me do this one thing for you. Please?"

"No. It hurts."

"But it gets better. I promise! I just need to warm up a bit."

"Warm up …? This isn't a bloody sport!"

"Please, Artie? I just want to help you loosen up."

"No. This was a terrible idea from the start."

"But –"

"_No_."

"…You're mean."

"Well, you're horrible at this. I'm leaving. Where's my shirt?"

"What? No! Please, give me another chance!"

"No way. Especially since anyone can just walk by and see us."

"I just wanted to make you feel good!"

"Why did I ever agree to letting you give me a back massage?"

"Fine. Be that way. I'll give a massage to Mattie instead!"

Meanwhile, a certain eavesdropping Canadian who had run off halfway through the conversation felt as if he was in danger … He avoided America for the next two months. And France spread rumors based on what Canada told him. Yes, the entire thing had been a disaster from the start …


	96. Day Eighty-Eight: Pain

_**This is the last installment of the 'Blood' series. Here's the order to read them in:**_

_**Breathe Again**_

_**I Can't**_

_**Traps**_

_**Heal**_

_**Blood**_

_**And then this one!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY EIGHTY-EIGHT: Pain**

_Characters: Iceland; Norway_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

He's fought the urge as long as he could, but he's done fighting. He's done waiting for the attention that he will never receive. He's done dropping hints to the other Nordics that he's losing it again. He's done caring.

He sits on his bed, razor in hand. His pulse races. He wants this. It had been a mistake to stop in the first place, especially since the need to cut never went away. Sure, he knows that it isn't exactly a good thing to slice open his skin, but what other choice does he have? It helps him breathe. It gives him control. Honestly, it became a part of him. And it doesn't want to let him go.

He stares at the scars on his wrists, licking his lips in anticipation. He presses the sharp blade into his skin, carefully, slowly. It's been a long time and he's out of practice. But it's like riding a bike, he realizes, as his mind stops racing and his hands do the work from memory. It's like he never even stopped.

He hates the pain but he loves it at the same time. But it's not enough. He presses harder. The numbness isn't enveloping him. He needs to be numb. He needs to stop thinking. He's getting desperate as, cut after cut, the numbness still doesn't come. He starts slashing blindly at his skin, anywhere he can. That's when he feels the numbness set in. He lies back on the bed, glad to be finally free from the pain of, well, everything.

"Iceland!"

He feels the bed sink under someone else's weight. Someone is trying to stop the bleeding, but a part of him doesn't want the bleeding to stop. He's numb, and he likes it. He likes not having to worry about anything. He hears his name called again. He ignores it. He likes the numb.

"Iceland, snap out of it!" he hears. "Look at me. Look at me!"

With a start, he realizes that it's Norway. Iceland realizes he's never heard Norway so panicked before, so distraught before – not even when his secret was first revealed. Iceland forces himself to focus, groaning when the numbness is pushed back a bit. He turns his gaze onto Norway, who desperately wraps his bleeding arm.

"Stay focused, Iceland," Norway orders. "You cut too deep."

Even while half-conscious, Iceland can hear the underlying accusation. "I didn't mean to," he mumbles. Norway doesn't meet his eyes, only wraps his arm. "I didn't mean to," he repeats.

Norway shakes his head. "Why would you do this? I thought … We all thought …"

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Iceland says, more forcefully. Things had just gotten out of hand.

Norway's eyes flashed. "But you still cut yourself, Iceland!"

"Because I can't stop," Iceland whispers hoarsely, tears of frustration slipping down his cheeks.

"You already stopped," Norway says, voice low and angry. Iceland flinches. "This is the start of it again."

"It never went away, Nor," Iceland admits before he can stop himself. "The urge to cut. It never went away."

Norway sighs, turns away once he's sure the wound is wrapped. "I'm sorry I never noticed. I'm sorry I let this happen again."

Iceland hates how Norway is disappointed in him. He hates how he slipped up. He hates himself. He hates everything. He hates how he started cutting in the first place, and how he's now brought himself full-circle. The cycle will never end. He'll always feel like this; he'll always turn to the blade. And he hates it.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispers.


	97. Day Fifty-One: Sport

_**I can't believe it's almost over, guys! Thanks for reading this far!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-ONE: Sport**

_Characters: guess/none in particular_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K_

_Genre(s): poetry_

OoOoOo

It's more than a sport; it's a way of life.

You live it, you breathe it, you dream it, you become it.

You fight your way up,

and when you're knocked back down, you fight again.

You survive criticism by looking towards it –

You never let anyone get you down.

You're a role model, both for others

and for yourself.

This is who you are, who you want to be –

You show others that they can achieve their dreams, too.

You play and you learn and you never let it go.

Not for anyone, and not for yourself.

You eat, drink, sleep – for it, not for anything else.

You become someone new, become stronger –

become the sport.

Only other players know this feeling –

only other believers will believe.

But you know the truth.

It's life.


	98. Day Ninety-Four: Last Hope

_**This is an alternate ending to 'Vacation.' If you want to understand what's going on, you should probably read that one first. (It's a lot better written, too.)**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-FOUR: Last Hope**

_Characters: America; England_

_Pairing(s): none (or USUK if you see them that way)_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst/hurt/comfort_

OoOoOo

_He watched his foot heal, leaving a mark. "It's okay, Iggy. I'm okay. I'm just going on a permanent vacation, so I need you to take care of my people."_

"_Shut up! You're not going anywhere! Bloody … I'm booking a flight right now. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't … don't do anything until I get there!"_

_England was still talking when America hung up the phone. Calmly, too calmly, he put the gun in his mouth._

He hesitated, a dangerous thing for a soldier to do. His hand trembled. He started to press down on the trigger. But he couldn't do it. He wanted to, as sure as hell, but something stopped him. Choking back a sob – of frustration, of anger, of hopelessness – he removed the gun from his mouth.

He wanted to get it over with. He'd tried so, so hard to live. He couldn't bear it any longer. And he didn't want England to see him die. Maybe he'd wait until England left and then try again; this time, he wouldn't make the phone call – a stupid idea, now that he thought about it.

He sunk to the ground, body trembling. He tried to smile; it was going to be over soon. Soon, there will be no more thoughts, no more pain, no more memories. He sat cross-legged on the floor, gun in his lap, cradling the weapon. It was his only way out. It was the way his people, his soldiers, had gone out; it was only fair that this was how he died, as well.

He didn't realize how long he sat there until he heard England pounding at his front door. America stayed in his spot, silent, staring down at the gun. He heard England open the door – probably with the key under the doormat – and raised his eyes to meet England's.

England stared, although in horror or fear, America couldn't tell. Eventually, England took a few cautious steps towards the younger nation.

"America, whatever you're thinking of doing –"

America chuckled humorlessly. "I'm going to do it, anyway. So just leave." He didn't mean for his voice to break. He didn't mean to have to blink back tears.

England continued stepping closer, until he was able to kneel down beside America. America tightened his grip on the gun, unwilling to give it up. England raised a hand, perhaps to hit America, or perhaps to initiate a hug, but dropped the limb back to his side.

"America," England choked. "How-how did it get this far?"

America had no answer. He shrugged in response, though he wasn't really listening. He turned the gun in his hands, over and over. Why wouldn't England leave? He just wanted to get this over with. He just wanted it to end.

"It was Vietnam, wasn't it," England murmured. America stopped fiddling with the gun and stiffened, prepared for the insults and the lecture that he knew was right. "Everything that happened –"

"You don't know a damn thing about what happened," America said darkly, though not unkindly. "Maybe you would if you bothered to write." Or call or text or anything, really. But now it was too little, too late. The hope had gone, had flown away, never to be returned.

England's eyes widened in realization. "America, I didn't –"

"You didn't know," America mocked half-heartedly. "You didn't realize. Yes, I'm aware." Why was he still talking? Why can't England just leave? Why doesn't he just shoot himself now? But he couldn't bear to do it in front of England. As much as England didn't care about him, America still cared about England.

"I wasn't there when you needed me," England allowed. "But I'm here now, Alfred. And, damn it all, I won't just let you bloody kill yourself!"

America shut his eyes. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he didn't do or say anything. He forced back tears, willed himself to stay strong for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

And yet, when he felt England take the gun away from him, America felt tears slip down his face, felt something inside of him break, felt everything wear down and fall apart in a split second. And when England's arms wrapped around him, America sobbed his heart out. He turned his face into England's chest and cried – cried for himself, cried for his people, cried for the hope that was lost.


	99. Day Sixty-Seven: Playing the Melody

**DAY SIXTY-SEVEN: Playing the Melody**

_Characters: guess_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: K+_

_Genre(s): poetry_

OoOoOo

The melody is the most important part of a song.

It's the most remembered.

It tells a story.

In a way, it controls the song.

Without the melody, there is only the rhythm,

which is just as important, but

the rhythm isn't the same without the melody.

The melody can, and does, stand on its own –

that's what you hum.

That's what you turn from the original mix into an acoustic or piano cover.

The melody stays the same, but it's the biggest part.

It controls the tone of the song as a whole.

It controls the mood, the passion, the entire piece.

That's why I always play the melody.

It's the only part I care about,

the only part that had any meaning,

the part that has the most control.


	100. Day Ninety-Five: Advertisement

_**I couldn't figure out what to do with this word, so … make of this what you will.**_

_**Only one more after this!**_

OoOoOo

**DAY NINETY-FIVE: Advertisement**

_Characters: America; England; Canada_

_Pairing(s): sort-of-but-not UKUS_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): humor_

OoOoOo

"That's not where it goes!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No! That's not where I put it!"

"Where else _can_ you put it, you bloody idiot?"

"Um … over …"

"Yeah, thought so. Stop being a child."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Here. Let me show you."

"Don't touch me! That – that's assault, right there!"

"How the bloody hell is that assault?"

"You touched me!"

"And?"

"Personal space, dude!"

"Hmm …"

"Stop it!"

"I feel like I'm in one of those advertisements –"

"Yeah. Totally. Advising the world how to fuck with your brother."

"Not what I meant."

"Oh. _That_. Well, that's … ahem …"

"Awkward."

"Yeah."

"Then let's get this over with."

"Hey! What did I say about touching!"

"Sorry. But you'll feel better after."

"But this is _now_! This is really hard!"

"I know it is, but you need to grow up and be an adult."

"Stop pressuring me!"

"Stop acting like a bloody child."

"Maybe I would if you listened to me! No means no!"

"What if we tried _this_? Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

"… Maybe."

Canada, once again, ran away from the conversation.

"There. Now was that so difficult?"

"… No."

"It's just cleaning your room! It's a bloody mess."

"I can't help it! I'm a hoarder!"

And, once again, Canada told France, who told the world.


	101. Day Fifty-Two: Deep in Thought

_**Last one you guys! In a few minutes, I'm going to upload an 'answer key' that tells you what happened/who the 'guess' person was in said chapters. 'Cuz I know you guys are confused.**_

OoOoOo

**DAY FIFTY-TWO: Deep in Thought**

_Characters: Iceland; (mentioned) other Nordics_

_Pairing(s): none_

_Rated: T_

_Genre(s): angst_

OoOoOo

Sometimes, he wondered how he even fit into the group. While he certainly had the personality – Norway and Sweden were also similar in that way – that was the only thing that connected him to the other Nordics. And even then, it was just barely. He was more hot-tempered due to his volcanoes. Not to mention, his physical age of seventeen affected his slight mood swings. The point was, even his personality wasn't enough to connect him to the others.

He spent a lot of time alone nowadays, ever since his independence. He supposed that his isolation and distrust of the other Nordics had something to do with why he didn't belong – not really. He wasn't like them; he couldn't just forgive and forget centuries of being a colony. He did his best not to mention his past – he wants to be known as an independent nation, not as someone's colony. So perhaps his pride also separated him from his so-called family.

His physical island, his home, assisted in his isolation. He was often unable to go to Nordic meetings due to time zones and business. Each and every one of those Nordic meetings took place somewhere in Scandinavia, where he usually couldn't get to as well as where he had so many bad memories of his past. He knew that he should move on from everything that had happened, and maybe he could have if it was just one event, but years upon years of pain and having no say piled up until he just couldn't forget. Norway pulling him into alliances; Norway abandoning him when Sweden offered him a way out; Denmark treating him poorly. And that was just the overview.

So it was a combination of his pride, his distrust, and his isolation that pulled him from the other Nordics. Of course he'd tried to get over his pride and distrust. Of course he'd tried to be more sociable. But he was never taken seriously, never heard, never seen – he was still a colony, a child, in all of their eyes.

He continued to wonder throughout the years since his independence why he was still considered a Nordic nation when it was all too obvious – to him, at least – that he did not belong with them. Not in the slightest.

OoOoOo

_**Thank you everyone for supporting me!**_

_**Thanks to everyone who reviewed: nightshadow23, stupidsexyprussia, Molly kirkland, TheNuttyCake, hyuugahealer3, katysven37, None, Witty Name Goes Here, Xiao Mei-chan, Blood on the Sakuras, Kairi-Yajuu2, Maewyn Muir, TooLazyToLogIn, PrussianMangaWolf, Hex the Ninja, AelanRyland011, slioe, deeb0123456789, CryingSun-MidnightDream, Sophia Griffin, Bluh, and all the guest reviewers.**_

_**Thanks to everyone who followed this story: Anime Ayumu, Arisa-chan 97, Blood on the Sakuras, CryingSun-MidnightDream, Dawnstar10K, Ita-chan18, KiwiFruit07, PrussianFanGirl, RTRTLTRTLTLTLTRT, Resistance33, Sapphire7777, ShafiraHatake, ShivaVixen, Sophia Griffin, Starlight Musings, TwixTheTwit, bobbielynn02, katysven37, marina1318, nightshadow23, slioe, and stupidsexyprussia.**_

_**Finally, thanks to everyone who favorited this story: A Slash Fangirl, Anime Ayumu, Arisa-chan 97, Blood on the Sakuras, CelestiaLily, HanatamagoFam, Imaginative Kuro Neko, Ita-chan18, KiwiFruit07, MandTproductions, PrussianFanGirl, Sakura Lisette, Sapphire7777, Sophia Griffin, Starlight Musings, Watanabe Maya, Witty Name Goes Here, deeb0123456789, littleshadows, marina1218, and stupidsexyprussia.**_


	102. Answer Key

_**Here's the 'answer key,' I guess you can call it. You know all those annoying 'guess' things I put in here where I didn't say who the main character was? Welp, here are the answers.  
**_

OoOoOo~ ~OoOoOo

**Day Fifteen: Silence** – South Korea, Thailand, China, Japan.

What happened: China went crazy. He killed Korea and Thailand, and then Japan killed him in self-defense.

**Day Thirty-One: Flowers** – Romano, brief Spain at the end

What happened: Romano slit his wrists and is playing the 'he loves me, he loves me not' game ('he', referring to Spain). Spain comes in as he falls unconscious.

**Day Twelve: Insanity** – Norway, and I picture Denmark later on

What happened: Norway sees creatures, right? Well, he lost it. Denmark sees him hallucinating and tries to snap him out of it.

**Day Eighty-Two: Can You Hear Me?** – Korea, Hong Kong, Iceland

The Messages: the three messages are 'Korea', 'Hong Kong', 'Iceland' (in italics) … 'please help me' (first letter of each row) … Can You Hear Me (capitalized letters)

**Day Fourteen: Smile** – Korea, China

What happened: Korea's insane. He killed Japan and Hong Kong, then killed China at the end. He cut their faces – like the Joker.

**Day Thirty-Seven: Eyes** – Finland (the narrator), Russia, Canada, Iceland

**Day Ninety-One: Drowning** – Prussia

**Day Eighty: Words** – South Korea

**Day Thirty-Four: Stars** – The 50 states personified, a bit of America at the end

**Day Thirty-Two: Night** – Iceland, Norway

**Day Forty-Nine: Stripes** – The 13 colonies personified, a bit of America at the end

**Day One Hundred: Relaxation** – Latvia

**Day One: Frown **– America (to England)

**Day Eighty-Four: Out Cold** – Norway, Denmark

**Day Thirteen: Misfortune** – Norway

**Day Thirty-Eight: Abandoned** – Sealand

**Day Twenty-Seven: Foreign** – Norway, Iceland

**Day Eighty-Nine: Through the Fire** – Sealand, mentioned England

**Day Sixty-Two: Magic** – Romania, England, or Norway, depending how you want to read it

**Day Ninety-Six: In the Storm** – Iceland, Norway, and either Denmark or Sweden

What happened: Iceland attempted suicide by hypothermia. Norway found him (with either Denmark or Sweden – who is the one who carried him home).

**Day Nineteen: Gray** – Iceland (being an angsty teenager) or America-being-smart

**Day Sixty: Rejection** – America

What happened: All of the 'rejected' nations and/or young nations join together and are about to commit suicide. America's 'death-speech' kind of implies that the group is more-or-less a cult.

**Day Seven: Heaven** – Russia

**Day Seventy-Five: Mirror** – Canada

**Day Fifty-Seven: Sacrifice** – Iceland about Norway (and mentioned Denmark)

**Day Fifty-One: Sport** – anyone, really (personally, I was thinking about Canada and hockey)

**Day Sixty-Seven: Playing the Melody** – Austria

OoOoOo

_**And that ends my 100-Day Challenge!  
**_

_**Keep an eye out for my next fic – 'Sweden Doesn't Bottom'.**_


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